Neal Caffreys
by ConsultingCaffrey
Summary: This is just going to be a bunch of chapters, one for each version of Neal I can come up with. If you thought you could handle one Neal, try a dozen.
1. Superpowered

Superpowered

(OK so instead of doing a bunch of crossovers, I've decided instead to write one chapter for each version of Neal I can come up with. If you have suggestions or a particular Neal you'd like to see, do share. Ideas are welcome)

Neal walked through the crowd of agents, a painting tucked under his arm like an ordinary piece of mail. He spotted Burke and paused, wandering over to stand in front of the agent. He tilted his head, watching the very very slow movement as Burke took a step back.

To them, he was a blur. They probably hadn't even registered him leaving the building yet. By the time they did, he'd be long gone, and it would take them forever to figure out which painting he'd replaced with his own forgery.

Neal stood in front of Burke for a moment longer, then headed off once more, back to the safehouse where Mozzie would most likely be waiting.

He smirked to himself as he stopped running and time went back to its normal pace. The agents far behind would only just be realizing what had happened and they'd be scrambling to keep up. Everyone knew they couldn't, but it was amusing to see them try.

Mozzie was indeed waiting when Neal stepped inside. He glanced up from the puzzle laid out on the table to ask, "You get it?"

Neal held up the painting with a self-satisfied grin.

"Did they see you?"

"Nope," Neal replied. "But it was close that time. This Agent Burke is good, I'll give him that."

"He won't catch you unless you let him," Mozzie warned. "Don't get too cocky."

Neal waved him off, placing the newly acquired painting aside for now. "How's our fence?"

"Pleased," Mozzie replied. "He'll meet us tomorrow at noon."

"Location?"

"Pending."

Neal sat down heavily on the couch, sighing. "That's taking more out of me than it used to," he admitted.

"Then take it easy," Mozzie said. "You don't have to run everywhere, you know."

Neal hummed in acknowledgement. It didn't feel like running to him, but after he stopped, it seemed to catch up to him. In his teenage years, he felt like he could run all the way across the country without breaking a sweat. Now, he was slowing down, though he was still too fast for the FBI to catch.

He thought about Agent Burke again and smiled to himself. That one was going to be trouble. He was smart, almost smart enough to bring in the great Neal Caffrey. Today had been one of his more bold attempts, and Neal had only just slipped past.

It was a matter of time before they properly met.

-)()(-

Peter flinched as a rush of blue shot past him and he watched as Neal Caffrey disappeared once again.

For just a split second, if had seemed like the man had paused in front of him, and Peter had even caught a short glimpse of that smirk before it was gone.

The agent shook his head, unable to hide a smile. This guy was fast, and smart. He was pretty much harmless as well. Peter happened to know that he didn't even carry a gun. They were lucky for that, he knew. Caffrey was perfectly capable of killing anyone who stood in his way, but he never went there. He was young, foolish, and brash. He just needed guidance, that was all.

Peter was determined to catch him, and that opportunity came when he least expected it.

It was a Thursday when they got a tip on Caffrey, and Peter took his team quickly to an old storage place where it didn't take long to find the man in question.

Peter was expecting him to be doing something shady, or even in the middle of a deal, but what he found was Caffrey sitting on the ground, panting heavily with his eyes closed.

Peter holstered his gun and took a step forward. "Caffrey?"

Neal glanced up quickly, surprised, then almost seemed to take in the situation and come to some acceptance about it. "Peter," he returned. "Help me up."

Peter didn't move, looking at him in puzzlement. This was the first time he'd gotten such a close look at the man he'd been chasing for almost five years. "What's wrong with you? By now, I figured you'd be halfway across town."

Neal smiled a bit and shook his head. "Tired of running. Can't run anymore."

"What's that mean, you can't run?"

They both glanced over as Diana appeared, though once she saw Peter standing there casually talking to Neal, she too put her gun away, shooting her boss a curious look. "We taking him in?"

"Yeah," Peter replied. He stepped forward and offered his hand, which Neal took, and he hauled the young con to his feet. "You're really were serious about the not running thing, weren't you?"

"Yeah, well, I figured I gotta stop somewhere. And I'd rather it be you that caught me and not some old guy further down the road."

Peter looked at him questioningly. "You're the one that called in the tip."

His answer was a smirk and a shrug.

-)()(-

Mozzie was upset, and rightfully so. Neal hadn't consulted him one bit on this, and now here he was, an anklet on his foot and no more spark in his eye.

"How much tether did they give you?"

"Two miles."

"Two miles?! Neal, that's a cage to you! They may as well have stuck you in jail!"

Neal shot him a look. "Yeah, except jail would be suffocating. I'll take this over prison any day. Besides, I get to work with Peter."

Mozzie scoffed. "You've had a man crush on him all these years. I should have seen this coming."

"Moz, I didn't see this coming," Neal said. "It just happened."

"I told you to take a break."

"I know."

"Are you gonna tell me what happened?"

Neal shrugged. "There's nothing to tell. I got tired of running."

"You love running. Come on, Neal, it's me."

Neal didn't say anything for a long time so Mozzie thought he was refusing to talk about it. Then, Neal sighed and said, "It's gone. The running thing."

"How?" Mozzie asked, but Neal just shrugged.

"I wish I knew."

-)()(-

Neal had been working with Peter for close to three years now, so he knew when their covers were blown it was time to get out. The only problem was that Peter was being held at gunpoint and there were men shouting at each other, and at him.

For the first time in a while, Neal felt trapped. There was no way out. He caught Peter's eye, looking for a signal, something to tell him what to do. Peter didn't have anything either.

The gun at the agent's head clicked as the man holding it flicked the safety off. Neal froze. His heart rate skyrocketed, and in a flash, he was there, knocking the gun away. It happened in a split second and he froze again, staring right into the shocked face of the man whose gun he'd just sent flying. No time for that. He grabbed Peter and took off again, not stopping until they were back at the van.

When he did stop, Peter stared at him with wide eyes, and Neal stared back with much the same expression.

Slowly Peter's face broke into a smile. "You're back."


	2. Canine

It wasn't a strange thing to see Peter Burke walk into the office with a leash in hand, on the end of which was a grey and white husky.

The dog had become a sort of mascot for the White Collar Division. He even had his own little corner that everyone called "Neal's desk".

Jones always kept treats in his pocket for him, and even Diana had grown to like him, though she still made it clear that she was a cat person.

Neal had been discovered a few years ago on the Burkes porch, shivering in two feet of snow. He had no collar or microchip, and after a few weeks of advertising, no one came to get him, so he became part of the family.

He was almost scary smart, knowing how to open doors and sneak around so that you didn't even know he was there. His aqua blue eyes held a spark of mischief, and when you talked to him, he seemed to listen carefully to every word.

Last year, Peter had been out on a walk with Neal when Jones called about a tip. There was no time to take the dog home, so Peter brought him with, knowing he'd behave himself.

The scene was horrendous. A young woman had been shot in her home, and she was currently being seen to by EMTs outside. Her grandmother's painting, she said, had been taken.

Peter spoke with her briefly, getting the details of what had happened, but other than that, there wasn't much he could do. Jones and Diana had already checked out the crime scene, finding nothing.

"Come on, Neal," he ordered, tugging on the leash.

Neal stayed stock still, ears pricked and gaze set firmly down the street.

"Neal," Peter repeated, "Let's go home."

Neal pulled against the leash with a soft growl, and that was when Peter knew something was up. Neal never growled, not even a little.

He let the dog take the lead, and set off, holding the leash loosely in his hand. Jones followed as well, curious, and they moved at a quick and steady pace down the street. Neal never faltered once, nose to the ground and sometimes to the air and he trotted along.

He didn't stop until they reached what looked like an abandoned house. The for sale sign in front of it was old and weathered. Neal turned sharply and went right up to the door, then glanced back at Peter.

Peter and Jones exchanged a glance before drawing their guns.

Inside, they found two men, and the painting, right in plain view. Peter wasn't sure how Neal had known, but that night, it was nothing but treats and scratches for him, especially from Elizabeth.

Ever since then, he'd practically become a part of the team, and that wasn't the last time he helped them catch a bad guy. They fitted him with a special tracking collar so they could follow him much quicker, and that was when they found out about his late night habits.

His tracking data showed that he got out of the house almost every night and wandered around the city, sometimes in a fixed pattern.

It became a popular topic around the office, everyone coming up with more elaborate explanations for the clever behavior. Peter was convinced Neal had been trained as a search and rescue dog. It explained how smart he was and how many commands he knew. It also explained his knack for finding things or people.

Neal seemed quite happy to run with the team, especially when he got attention from the people he helped. He was becoming the most popular dog in the city.

One night, Peter was woken up by Neal whining at the door of their bedroom and Elizabeth mumbled, "He probably needs to go out."

Peter got up with a sigh, and he headed downstairs, Neal bouncing at his heels excitedly.

"Alright, alright."

Peter opened the door to the backyard, but Neal stopped right outside and looked up at him, whining some more.

"What? Go on. You wanted out."

Neal spun in a circle, then pushed his way back inside through Peter's legs, only to head straight over to the front door to whine some more.

Peter sighed heavily. "No, Neal. Go lay down."

Neal barked sharply, making Peter jump slightly. "Neal! No!"

Neal only barked again, more demanding this time, if that was possible, so Peter went over and opened the door. Right away, Neal dashed off down the street, only to run right back, dancing in place with another high pitched bark.

Peter was extremely tired, but he now knew his dog was trying to tell him something, so he grabbed his coat and followed him.

Neal didn't lead him far, just to a construction site a quarter mile down the road. Peter could barely see in the dark, but after a moment, he spotted Neal's white fluffy tail further down the fence, and when he got close, he could see something else.

It turned out to be another dog, its short, tan fur covered in dirt. It wore an old, ratty collar, which was stuck on the fence pretty good.

Neal licked the dog's floppy ears, then glanced up at Peter, who was already working the collar free. It took a moment, and the stray dog tucked its tail between its legs, looking at him in fear.

It took a minute to get him free, and when he did, he took a look at the collar. There were no tags, but there was a name etched into the fabric. 'Mozzie'.

"Hey, Mozzie," Peter soothed. "Good boy."

And that was how the Burkes acquired another dog. As with Neal, they put up posters and called local animal shelters, but no one ever came for him. Neal was happy, Peter was sure. The two got along famously, and it wasn't long before they were wreaking havoc on the city during their nightly escapades.

Mozzie refused to set foot in the bureau, but that was fine with Peter. They already had one mascot. There was no need for two.

"What are we gonna do with you guys?" Peter muttered, sitting in his office while Neal lay at his feet, chewing on a ball Jones had made him out of rubber bands. But he glanced up at Peter's voice.

And was it just him or had the dog just grinned at him?


	3. Winged

Neal had his feet up on his desk, leaning back in his chair while he tossed a crumpled piece of paper up in the air over and over. His wings were folded neatly behind him for once.

Peter watched from his office, his own feet also up on his desk. This was Friday. Nobody liked Fridays. But especially when they were stuck at the office with nothing to do but wait for a new lead on a case that had run cold days ago. And especially when you were one Neal Caffrey, who always seemed to want to be doing something. Stick him in an office like this on a Friday afternoon with nothing but paper and agents, and you were bound to face trouble eventually.

He watched some more as Neal pulled his phone from his pocket, frowning thoughtfully at it as he texted someone. Probably Mozzie.

After a moment, he glanced up, catching Peter watching him, but he didn't do anything other than gesture vaguely to his phone, indicating that he had something to do away from the office.

Peter waved him off and Neal slipped his jacket on, out the doors before his handler could change his mind. All the same, Peter planned on checking his anklet in a while. Just in case.

-)()(-

Neal got home and went straight upstairs. Mozzie was there, as promised, and he glanced up when Neal entered, looking relieved. "Ah, you managed to escape the confines of Suit HQ."

"You said you had something," Neal pressed impatiently.

Mozzie patted the chair beside him. "Come."

Neal's wings spread some as he perched on the chair, looking at the computer with several different tabs open. He could easily tell what this was about.

"Moz..."

"Just hear me out," his friend insisted.

Neal reluctantly shut his mouth, and his wings twitched in agitation. But he nodded for Mozzie to continue.

"Okay, so there's a lot of chatter about a girl in London. This one checks out as far as I can tell, but I had to do a lot of digging to find a decent picture." He turned the laptop towards Neal, who looked at the fuzzy picture displayed.

It wasn't clear by any means, but it was easy to see a pair of wings behind the back of a woman hidden in shadow. She was tall, slender, and from what Neal could tell, she was beautiful.

"Clearly I'm not going to London," Neal muttered, "Even if I wanted to."

"Why not?" Mozzie exclaimed. "You need to meet people of your own..."

"Species?" Neal finished dourly.

"I was going to say persuasion."

Neal looked at the picture again. "I'm not interested. Just... leave it alone, Moz."

-)()(-

It had been a few years, but Neal hadn't forgotten about that picture of the woman in London. Mozzie had brought it up a couple times, even finding a better picture, but Neal had never done anything with the information.

Now, though, Neal Caffrey was dead and he could go wherever he pleased. Sure, Mozzie wasn't by his side anymore, but this was something to be done on his own anyway. It was something he needed to figure out for himself.

London was as bleak as the last time he'd been here so long ago, but this time he had a goal in mind. Granted, it would take some time, but he was willing to put in the effort.

Months went by and he stayed there, not finding much, but what little he did stumble across was enough to convince him to stay, that he was in the right place.

Four months, two weeks, and a day after the start of his search, he found what he was looking for.

There was a woman across from him, her golden colored wings matching her hair. Wide green eyes stared at him, and Neal stayed frozen in place. He wasn't sure what to do.

Slowly, the woman's wings extended, showing their pattern, and Neal copied the movement, his blue ones just slightly larger than hers.

For a moment, they stood that way, and Neal didn't dare open his mouth to break the moment. Instead, he stayed put as she moved her wings behind her and walked towards him.

The closer she got, the more she took his breath away until she was standing right in front of him, and he was caught up in those emerald orbs. She seemed to be taking him in, and when she reached up to run her fingers through his black feather tips, he suppressed a shudder.

Finally, her eyes returned to his and she smiled.

-)()(-

Mozzie didn't know what to expect when he went to Paris, but he knew one thing: He was either going to slap Neal in the face or hug him to death.

Two years. Two years of thinking his friend was dead and this was what he got? A bottle of wine and a note with a friendly hello? Not to mention the casual "why don't you stop by if you're ever in the neighborhood?" No. Unacceptable. Yet here he was, going to see his old friend in France and not knowing exactly what to prepare himself for.

He'd gone through all the possibilities on the way over here, including the one where this was all just an elaborate scheme from one of his enemies. Not likely. They'd have just poisoned the wine, probably.

At the door, he stood for a full minute before knocking. When it opened, he almost started directly into his well-practiced rant, but the words died on his lips when he saw, not Neal, but a pretty woman looking at him expectantly.

"Um... I think I have the wrong..."

"Moz!"

And there was Neal, coming to stand in the doorway beside the girl with that big smile of his.

Now Mozzie started his rant, allowing Neal to tug him inside while he did so. He didn't stop until he'd said all he had to say and Neal was still looking at him fondly.

"Are you done?"

"Yes."

Then Mozzie got to meet Sierra, whom he took an immediate liking to, though after Neal invited him to stay, he politely declined. Neal had finally found a piece of the good life. There was no need to come in and spoil it.

That wasn't to say he left right then. No, he'd stay for a while and visit before heading back to New York. Neal's wine collection was better anyway.


	4. Vampire

(Shoutout to those of you who get the AHS: Hotel reference in here)

"I hope you have a plan for this," Peter said quietly.

They were both tied to chairs in the middle of what looked like it used to be an office, but it was now empty, save for them and their chairs.

Neal didn't answer that. He was being uncharacteristically quiet and Peter hoped that was because he was thinking.

So far, they'd only seen one man, the one who'd caught them both. He was short, but fit, built like a smaller version of Peter. He wore black both times he'd come into the room, and a pair of shades seemed to be permanently pushed up on his head. Piercing green eyes were accented by a thin line of black eyeliner. His hair was a deep obsidian black, gelled back.

His focus had been almost entirely on Neal, who gave away nothing, but Peter had a strong suspicion that they knew each other.

A couple days went by with no demands, no questions. The man in black came in twice a day, saying nothing, doing nothing except giving Peter a little food and water. He offered nothing to Neal.

When he was gone, Peter held out some of the food to Neal, but the other man refused to take it.

"You need it," he kept saying. "There's barely enough for one person."

Peter, of course told him he was being stupid, but no matter how much he argued, Neal didn't budge.

Every day that passed, Neal grew more and more tense. He didn't even appear to sleep, just stared at the opposite wall and occasionally made small talk.

Peter was stunned that he was lasting so long without a single drop of water or a single crumb of food. Five days in, and he asked Neal what was going on, but all he got was a vague answer. Time passed and Neal grew a little paler, a little shakier, but otherwise appeared okay. Peter couldn't understand what was keeping him going.

Then, exactly ten days after they'd been taken, the man walked into the room, smirking.

"Hello, Neal," he greeted as usual, but he entirely ignored Peter. "Such an odd name you're going by now. The last I heard, they called you Donovan."

Neal looked at him coldly, but said nothing.

The other man leaned closer, grinning. "Do you know my name?"

Neal shook his head.

"It's Finnigan. I want you to know it," the man said. "Because when you walk out of here, I want you to know who it was that ruined your life."

Neal tightened his jaw. "I won't let you get that far."

The other man smirked. "You can't do anything." He paused. "Actually, there's only one thing you're going to do here. And it will be you, I promise." With a glance at Peter, he asked, "Tell me, Donovan, how long do you think you'll last without feeding? A few more days, I'd wager."

Peter watched in confusion as Finnigan cut Neal's hands loose. "What are you doing?"

They both ignored him. Finnigan left Neal's feet tied, then retreated with another parting grin. Neal stayed in his chair, eyes closed and eyebrows pinched together.

"Neal?"

"Yeah."

"What was he talking about?"

Neal shook his head and stopped answering, no matter how many times Peter demanded answers.

Two more days went by. Neal's hands shook and he gripped the chair tightly in an attempt to keep them still. His eyes became bloodshot.

It was impossible that he was still alive and Peter was beginning to get scared. He didn't know what was going on, but he didn't like it one bit. And where was the team? It had been almost two weeks. Why weren't Jones and Diana kicking down the door yet?

On day thirteen, Neal was shaking so hard, Peter was sure he was having a seizure or something. He put his head in his hands and breathed quickly, shoulders so tense, Peter could see the outline of every muscle through his shirt, which was soaked in sweat.

"Neal..." he said hesitantly.

Neal tensed even more and made a low, growling noise in his throat. After maybe thirty seconds, he suddenly reached down and tore the rope off his legs, staggering to his feet, but he didn't go over to Peter, instead heading over to the furthest corner away from him.

"Neal, what's happening? Talk to me, please."

Neal panted something over and over, but it was very quiet and Peter had to listen closely to hear it:

"Please kill me... please just kill me..."

Peter tried talking to him some more, but Neal didn't answer him, only seeming to get more agitated.

All at once, Neal's eyes snapped open and he stood, still panting heavily, but now he was looking directly at Peter, his pupils narrowed into slits like a cat. Peter's blood ran cold just to see it.

Neal's expression became conflicted and panicked, and he backed up against the wall, shaking his head. "Peter... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."

"What's going on?" Peter demanded. "Come on, talk to me, Neal. Please. Let me help you."

Neal looked away, cringing. "You can't. Y-you can't..." He squeezed his eyes shut, baring his teeth in a wince. He groaned and slowly opened his mouth. Peter watched as two pristine white fangs protruded from his gums, and Neal grunted in pain. He looked back to Peter, his eyes full of guilt and regret. "I'm sorry," he gasped again. "I can't... I can't stop it."

Peter jerked against the bindings on his wrists, eyes wide. "Neal," he warned, "Don't. You can fight this."

Neal suddenly snapped, "I've been trying!" His eyes flashed with more than just rage. In a flash, he was leaning over Peter, his nails digging into the chair. He stayed frozen in that position, desperately trying to fight against the monster Peter now knew he was.

Up close, those fangs looked long sharp and Neal dug them into his lower lip in an attempt to restrain himself. "I'm sorry," he breathed again.

With a crash, the door behind him burst open and Neal spun around. Diana and another agent held their guns out in front of them, and Neal swallowed thickly, shoulders slumping in dread. "Shoot me," he gasped. The shaking had started up again.

"Neal!" Peter snapped.

Diana stared at Neal in shock, taking in his appearance.

"Shoot me!" Neal shouted.

Diana flinched when the agent beside her fired his gun.

-)()(-

Peter stood outside the door for what felt like a long time before he opened it and walked in.

Neal glanced up, then back down, looking uncomfortable when he saw it was Peter.

Neither of them said a word for a moment, then Peter came over to sit beside the bed. "How are you holding up?"

Neal shrugged with one shoulder. "The doctor said I can go home in a couple days."

"It was a through-and-through. The bullet got you in the shoulder, not the chest. But that's not what I meant."

Neal was quiet.

"Look at me," Peter said, and waited for his friend to do so before saying firmly, "Nothing has changed."

Neal blinked. "Why not? I almost killed you, you realize that, right?"

"It wasn't your fault. I know it and you know it. And if you're worried about your deal, it's not a problem. Diana promised not to tell anyone and you know I won't."

Neal looked at him in puzzlement. "What about the other agent? The one who shot me?"

Peter nodded. "He's denying having seen anything at all, even to me."

Neal nodded, looking down at his hands. "Why?"

"I don't know. Maybe he thinks it was a trick of the light."

"No, why are you doing this for me?" Neal asked.

Peter looked at him very seriously. "Because that's what friends do. I know if the situation were reversed, you'd do everything in your power to help me."

"Would I?"

"I would be extremely grateful if you did. So, how about it? What do you say we put this behind us?"

"Can we, though?"

Peter sighed. "Would you just say thank you and move on?"

Neal smiled a bit. "Sure. I can do that."

Peter nodded. "Then I'll see you in a little bit. I'll bring Elizabeth."

As he turned to head back out of the room, Neal called after him, "Hey, Peter?"

Peter glanced over his shoulder expectantly.

"Thank you."

He smiled. "Just looking out for a friend."


	5. Shapeshifter

(Here you go, Resident of Wonderland! I couldn't wait to write it, so I moved it straight to the top of my to do list~ I am very interested in doing a full fic on this in the future)

Mozzie walked into the room and paused when he spotted the grey tabby cat perched out on the edge of the balcony, its back turned. When it heard him, it glanced over its shoulder, blinking with bright blue eyes.

Mozzie watched as it seemed to become like a liquid, grey fur morphing into a grey suit and its white paws elongating into hands. In seconds, Neal had taken its placed and he swung his legs back over the edge and dropped onto the ground. "Hey, Moz."

"You should be more careful," Mozzie warned. "Next time it might be someone else."

Neal shrugged. "Like who? June knows. Peter knows."

"I'm still not comfortable with that."

Neal smiled a bit. "I wouldn't expect you to be."

Mozzie was just upset that Neal hadn't run when he'd had the chance. The anklet had been just a piece of plastic then. Now it was much more advanced, a chip that changed with him whenever he shifted, thanks to some special techs in the FBI. Thanks to that, it was now next to impossible to escape.

"Alright," Neal said eventually, "I'll be more careful in the future." There was that look in his eye, the one Mozzie had come to know as something like sadness, just... different. He didn't like to talk about his ability too much. Mozzie could hazard a few guesses as to why, but it didn't matter. He couldn't help with any of them.

-)()(-

June was the most understanding when it came to Neal's shapeshifting. She found it endearing, and she made sure Neal knew he didn't have to hide it from her. It came to be that he'd sometimes come downstairs and just hang around, sometimes perched on her shoulder as a bird, sometimes lying at her feet as a dog. It didn't matter because she always treated him the same. He was just Neal, no matter how he looked.

He confided in her once that he wasn't entirely sure who or what he was. The confusion of being so many different things made him question his identity more than anyone knew, and June did her best to be there for him through anything. She listened to him, gave advice, but ultimately, it was up to Neal to discover for himself who he was.

-)()(-

When Peter had first learned of Neal's mutation, he'd been more puzzled than anything, and not about the ability itself, just the fact that Neal could have run and he hadn't.

He'd mulled it over for days, finding no reason that the con had chosen to stay tethered, so finally, he'd asked Neal outright.

Neal had shrugged with one of his distracting smiles. "Maybe I wanted to see what the great Peter Burke was like to work with." It wasn't even a plausible lie, but Peter hadn't asked again.

It was only recently that he realized what the answer was. Neal had chosen to stop running because he had no answers. He couldn't find the truth about himself all those years on the run, and then along had come an agent who seemed to have all the answers.

No, Neal hadn't exactly turned himself in, but near the end, he'd stopped trying. The game had lost its intrigue.

-)()(-

Neal lay with his chin on his large paws, ice blue eyes looking out over the expanse of the city. His long tail was still, and he sighed heavily. He hadn't really planned on what to be when he'd shifted, but what he ended up becoming was a white tiger, so he'd gone with it, not really caring.

Tonight was one of those nights when all his doubt, uncertainty, and frustration came to the surface and he was caught up in negative thoughts.

One ear twitched when he heard the door open, and he figured it was probably Mozzie.

"Hey, Neal."

Neal sat up at Peter's voice, surprised. He didn't like to be in any other of his forms around the agent, so he quickly shifted back, sitting on the floor for a second before standing up.

"Peter, what are you doing here?"

"I came to see you," Peter said, holding up the case of beer he'd brought along. "It's been a while since we've hung out as friends."

Neal wasn't about to turn down the chance to escape his thoughts, so he didn't object, heading back inside to sit down and enjoy some small talk.

However, try as he might, he couldn't escape, and eventually, he rubbed his eyes with a sigh, leaning back on the couch. "I don't know," he mumbled. "I just... don't know."

"Don't know what?" Peter questioned, tilting his head.

"Nothing," Neal replied, gesturing around him. "Everything. It's all just there, and I don't know where I fit." He regretted opening his mouth, but at the same time, it felt good to say it.

"What do you mean?" Peter asked after a moment of silence.

Neal struggled to think of how best to put it, but while he thought, Peter said nothing, waiting patiently.

"I have no idea who I am," he said eventually. "I don't even know what I'm supposed to be. What if I was born a... a pigeon?"

Peter chuckled. "You weren't born a pigeon."

"How would you know?" Neal asked, his voice getting stronger. "What if I'm just something else that can change into a human instead of a human who can change into something else?"

"You're thinking too much about this," Peter said.

"No, I'm not," Neal argued. "I just want to know who I'm supposed to be."

"You're not supposed to be anything," Peter said, taking a drink from his beer. "You're supposed to choose for yourself who you want to be. Do you want to be a pigeon?"

Neal made a face. "Well, no, but..."

"Then don't," Peter shrugged. "It's as simple as that. If you want to be Neal the human, be Neal the human. If one day you decide you want to be Neal the cat or Neal the canary, do it. You won't hurt my feelings."

Neal squinted, lifting his chin a bit. "You've thought about this before."

"Maybe more than you."

Neal returned his gaze to his feet stretched out in front of him, then nodded to himself. "That simple, huh?"

"Why not?"

Peter almost jumped when Neal moved and suddenly there was a cat purring away in his lap. He smiled, stroking it gently.

"Yeah, you're welcome."

Satchmo was going to go crazy when he smelled cat hair on his pants.


	6. Handicapable

(I've been sick so there's not much for me to do except continue this. Good news for you guys because I might post another chapter tonight)

Peter spoke to both Neal and Diana, giving last minute direction before they went back undercover. Neal looked at him attentively, and nodded to show he got it.

"Enjoy the van," he smirked.

Peter huffed. "Just don't do anything stupid, okay?"

"Who, me?"

Diana nudged him and Neal glanced over as she said, "Let's go. Roderas is waiting."

Peter headed back to the van, taking a seat beside Jones and grabbing a headset. He was nervous, as always, but Neal had proven that he could take care of himself in these situations.

The conversation with Roderas went smoothly, aside from one small moment where Diana had to repeat something he'd said to make sure Neal got it.

In no time, they had enough to take him down and Peter ordered the team to move in.

Afterwards, he found Neal over by the van, digging the special earpieces out of his ears. He was frowning deeply.

Peter came up beside him and Neal jumped a bit, but quickly covered his surprise. "These don't help," he muttered.

Peter made sure he was paying attention before replying, "They're top-grade."

"Well they don't help," Neal said again. He looked away so that he had an excuse to ignore when Peter tried to interrupt. "I'm deaf, not hard of hearing."

Anyone who met Neal wouldn't even know it, at first. He was very good at reading lips, expressions, body language, and he seemed to even sense what you were going to say before you said it anyway.

Sometimes it was harder, though. He couldn't hear instructions over an earpiece or a phone, so they had to account for that when they sent him undercover. It had nearly cost him his life a few times, but lucky for them, he always weaseled his way through.

Today had been easy, but there were going to be more dangerous cases. Peter dreaded those.

-)()(-

When Neal walked in and didn't seem to notice him, Mozzie tossed a paper airplane at him, successfully catching his attention.

Neal gave him a nod and an "Oh, hey Moz," but didn't come over, as Mozzie had wanted him to. Sometimes signals were misinterpreted. That only meant he had to go over there and talk to him.

He padded over, waiting for Neal to stop rummaging through the fridge and notice he was there. Neal turned around and blinked, then asked, "What?"

"Those gene therapy trials are going very well."

"Yeah?"

Mozzie nodded. "You'd probably make it on the list if you applied."

Neal shrugged. "I've managed just fine so far, haven't I? Why throw in surgery that might not even work?"

Mozzie rolled his eyes, tapping Neal's shoulder when he went to turn away. "It's hardly surgery. You know that."

Neal narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "I thought you were against that whole thing anyway."

Mozzie shrugged. "I've been researching. It looks legit."

Neal held up one finger with a puzzled look and Mozzie repeated, "Legit. Like legitimate."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Not your fault. I didn't pronounce that one very well."

Neal shrugged. "I'll think about it, alright?"

Mozzie gave him a pat on the shoulder. "That's all I ask."

-)()(-

The first thing Neal heard was the doctor asking him if he could hear him. The sound made him smile and he nodded.

They tested both ears, snapping fingers, asking questions to which Neal either nodded or shook his head.

"Do you want to say something?" the doctor asked, "hear the sound of your own voice?"

Neal smiled, thinking for a second before speaking. "What should I say?" He was surprised by his voice and his smile widened.

Before, he'd only heard the reverberations of his voice in his ears. This was so much different. He could hear the words clearly now.

"You ready for some visitors?"

Peter, Elizabeth, and Mozzie walked in, no one saying a word yet. Neal smiled at them, initiating the conversation himself. "Hey."

"Hey, Neal," Peter said.

"Oh my god." Neal immediately grinned, stunned and overjoyed at the voice he could now associate with the man.

"Hey, Neal." Mozzie sounded exactly as he'd imagined, but it was still exciting to hear for the first time.

Elizabeth as well when she greeted him.

Neal was grinning uncontrollably now and he covered his face with his hands, tears beginning to fill his eyes. His shoulders shook with emotion and he heard Peter question, "Are you crying?"

Neal shook his head fiercely, uncovering his face. He couldn't even speak.

"Oh, hon," Elizabeth laughed, moving in for a tight hug.

Neal didn't think he'd ever hear their voices without smiling like an idiot. Tears were streaming down his face and he laughed. "It wasn't supposed to be so..." He couldn't finish; the sound of his own voice made him start laughing with joy again.

Mozzie placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't give yourself a heart attack."

The doctor had been standing off to the side, but after a few minutes, he stepped forward. "It looks like the gene therapy was successful. He's still not on the same level of hearing as a normal person, but it's definitely better than it was. He'll have to come back a few times..."

Neal stopped listening, just staring at the man's mouth and thinking about how he no longer had to read lips to figure out what people were saying. That had been difficult in the conference room when multiple agents were going over cases.

Peter and Elizabeth drove him home and he didn't speak a word, just listening to the sound of the car and smiling continuously.

When he walked inside, June was there and she came over, eyes alight with curiosity. "How'd it go?" She made sure he'd be able to read her lips if necessary, but he didn't need to. He thought he might cry again when he heard her voice.

He nodded, grinning broadly. "It went just fine."

She didn't bother trying not to cry, smiling with an excited noise as she pulled him into a warm hug. "Oh my goodness, you beautiful, beautiful boy."

He knew there was still a long way to go, but if it could only get better than this, he'd endure. Hearing the voices of the people he loved most in this world was worth everything he could give.


	7. Twin

(Dedicated to Felix Turner from The Normal Heart. You precious cinnamon roll. Very touching movie, I highly recommend it)

Peter glanced up when Neal walked into his office, but broke off the greeting on his lips when he saw his friend's face.

Neal looked utterly spent, his expression worn and troubled. "Peter," he said very seriously, "I need a big favor. And I need you to listen to everything before you answer."

Peter leaned forward a bit, concerned, but also wary. "Yeah, what is it? What's going on?"

"I need you to extend my radius for a day. I have to go visit someone and it's important that I be there as soon as I can."

Peter waited for him to give more information, and when he didn't, the agent narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Who are you going to see?"

"Can you extend my radius or not?" Neal asked, ignoring the question.

"Well, I'm going to need more than some vague excuse," Peter said. "Just tell me what's so important."

Surprisingly, he could actually see Neal getting frustrated, and he pointed down at his foot. "I will cut this thing off. One way or another, I'm going. Just, please, don't make me explain this. Just this once, that's all I'll ever ask from you ever again, I swear."

Peter stared at him in silence, a little taken aback. "Alright, let me go with you."

"No."

"Neal..."

"Peter, please."

No matter how much Neal argued, Peter refused to back down. If Neal wanted his radius extended, Peter was going with him or no one was going at all.

Neal wasn't happy about it at all, but he finally gave up.

-)()(-

Peter drove them to the address Neal had reluctantly given him, and parked in front of a house just a few miles outside Neal's radius.

"I don't suppose you'll wait in the car," Neal mumbled.

Peter shook his head. For one, anybody would tell you that it was a bad move to let Neal Caffrey out of your sight when he was acting suspicious. But also, he was beyond curious about this whole thing.

Neal sat in the car for a moment, seeming to gather himself, then climbed out and walked up to the door, Peter trailing behind him.

A man answered, and when he saw Neal, he looked relieved. They hugged and Neal smiled warmly.

"Ned, this is Peter. He's a friend."

Peter shook Ned's hand and they were both invited inside.

The place smelled very clean, and Peter glanced around, taking note of the many newspaper clippings on one wall, some framed photos, and a couple certificates.

Ned gave Neal a small smile and jerked his head. "Come on, he's been asking about you ever since I called to let you know."

Tilting his head, Peter followed them down a short hall and into a smaller room, feeling like a bit of a third wheel.

There was a figure lying in the bed there, his cheeks sunken in so far, he looked like a skeleton. If Peter didn't know any better, he'd say it was a very sick Neal. Same face, same eyes, same smile. They could only be twins, he realized in shock as he watched Neal lean down to give the other man a gentle hug.

"Hey, Felix."

Ned came to stand beside Peter, giving them their space. "You must be the famous Peter Burke."

"That I am. Neal failed to mention you guys."

"Felix is his twin brother," Ned explained, "And he's also my partner."

It made sense now. Peter looked on as Neal spoke quietly with Felix, who looked half dead from where he was standing. "What's wrong with him?" he asked quietly.

"AIDS..." Ned replied. "I thought he could fight it, but... We all know how it ends. He's only getting worse."

"Why isn't he in a hospital?"

"He's been in and out. He gets better sometimes, but..."

Peter felt his heart twinge as he watched Neal and Felix, one so startlingly frail and weak, the other healthy and strong. It was heartbreaking to see, and Peter murmured to Ned that he'd be going to run some errands and to have Neal call him when he was ready.

-)()(-

Neal called to be picked up a few hours later, and the drive home was spent in silence.

As Peter stopped the car in front of June's, he reached out to put a hand on Neal's arm. "Hey," he started, "If you ever want to visit again, you just let me know, okay?"

Neal nodded with a small smile. "Thank you, Peter."

That night, Peter couldn't stop thinking about Felix, lying there like a skeleton with that glazed look in his blue eyes. The image had truly haunted him, and the fact that he looked exactly like Neal didn't help that.

"We all know how it ends," Ned had said. Peter was determined to be there for Neal through this whole thing, no matter what.

He couldn't begin to imagine losing a brother.

-)()(-

It was a month later before Neal got the news. Felix had passed away.

He was in the van with Peter, Jones, and Diana, and they all heard his sudden intake of breath.

He left and no one stopped him, but as soon as the stakeout was over, Peter called Mozzie to make sure someone would be there for him.

He didn't have to worry. The little guy was already there and he informed Peter that Neal would be okay.

For a few days, he so obviously wasn't, but he tried anyway. After a few weeks, he began to come back to himself, though Peter could tell he was still struggling.

After a month, he hadn't regained that spring in his step, but no one pressed him to. He'd bounce back in his own time.

And he did. He smiled again, and went back to making witty remarks on cases. Peter didn't point it out. He was just glad to have his friend back.

And when he went to June's once, to go over some things with Neal, he took notice of a new painting hung proudly on the wall. It was all Neal, he could tell, not some forgery. In it was a beautiful scene from a pier, the colors of a sunset illuminating a single figure standing there, chin up to the sky.

What he didn't see was the message on the back:

"For Felix...

You will be forever in my heart.

Your brother and best friend,

~Neal"


	8. Pirate

Neal Caffrey was not what Peter thought he'd be. All the stories told never mentioned a tall scrawny kid who didn't even have a characteristic pirate beard. He looked very young, his blue eyes full of mischief even as he stood at the other end of a sword. The only thing that made him resemble a pirate of any sort was the hat on his head, a typical Captain's hat, though he was certainly no Captain.

"Burke," Caffrey smiled, ever the charmer everyone had heard of.

"Don't even try that," Peter warned. "I'm not letting you go."

Neal tilted his head, that twinkle never once leaving his eyes. "I'd be disappointed if you did."

Peter narrowed his eyes. It was almost like the man had wanted to be caught. Actually, the more he thought about it, the more he was certain that's exactly what the pirate had intended. "What do you want?" he asked, wary, but curious.

"We have a mutual enemy," Neal said, not bothering to dodge around the matter. He tapped at the hat on his head. "Recognize this?"

Peter looked at it more closely, spotting the letter A etched into the leather. "Adler," he said, surprised. "How'd you make off with his hat?"

Neal waved a hand flippantly. "The plan had been to make off with the whole ship, but as you can see, that didn't go as I'd hoped."

"And so?" Peter pressed. "Why do I care that you tried to screw over your captain? And failed, might I add." Pirates and their mutinies. He'd never understand it.

That seemed to be the question Neal had been waiting for, and he said, "I can help you catch him."

Peter looked at him for a long moment, still not lowering his sword. "Why should I trust you?"

"You shouldn't," Neal replied. "Don't trust anyone. All I ask is that you have a little faith. I can get you Adler, and in exchange, I go free."

It was a well thought out plan, Peter had to admit. He only wondered how long it had taken for Caffrey to think of it after licking his wounds from his failed takeover.

"Why me?" Peter asked eventually. Neal's smile took on a more genuine look, he thought.

"Why not you? You're the noble Peter Burke, Captain of the fastest ship in the Royal Navy. You've been after me for three years, almost caught me multiple times. You're the best. I wouldn't trust any other man with something like this."

The offer was tempting, Peter had to admit. Vincent Adler was a big prize, and letting one lesser pirate go free to get him was hardly a sacrifice at all. But still, he couldn't bring himself to say yes. He abided by the law, and this was a stretch.

"Sorry, Neal," he said. "But I can't do that."

-)()(-

Neal walked, not bothering to hide the smug grin on his face as he followed a guard out of the cell and back into sunlight. Peter was waiting for him.

"Took you long enough to change your mind," Neal smirked.

"Don't make me regret it," Peter grumbled. "Just help me find Adler."

Neal had been on many a ship, but the White Knight was by far the nicest. He ran his hand along the balustrade, elaborately carved, of course. The wood was smooth and polished, looking to have been recently repaired. He looked up into the sails, following the lines of rope to their cleats until Peter barked at him to get moving.

There were several other crew members on board, including, Neal was shocked to see, a black man called Jones. It wasn't unusual to find slaves working as crew on ships, but not in the Royal Navy, and certainly not dressed as nicely as he was. He wondered about that, but not so much when he spotted a woman.

Now that was unusual. Women were considered bad luck to bring on board, especially to pirates, but considering this was no pirate ship, perhaps it wasn't so far-fetched. When he caught her eyes, he put on one of his charming smiles, but was pretty much ignored as she went back to helping some of the other crew prepare to set sail.

Neal made his way up to Peter at the wheel and inquired about the odd choice of crew members.

Burke's answer came flatly. "Jones is a good man. He's also a friend of mine. Diana is worth more than most sailors I know, so she stays."

"Ah," Neal said with a nod. He moved to head back down onto the deck, but Peter grabbed him by the arm and held him there, giving him a stern look.

"Neal, trust me when I say you'd be better off occupying your time helping me catch Adler than flirting with Berrigan."

"Of course," Neal said. "I got it."

It didn't take long for him to realize Peter had been right. No one told him, and it was difficult to figure out, but he knew after a few days at sea. He confronted her about it once, sidling up beside her in the middle of the night as she patrolled the deck, keeping watch.

"I thought they'd have thrown you overboard by now. These people have a low tolerance for anyone who doesn't follow a traditional lifestyle."

She wasn't pleased, and Neal could see fear in her eyes, though she refused to beg, to plead with him to keep his mouth shut. Instead, she spoke in a low voice, saying, "If you breathe a word I don't like, I'll keelhaul you myself. I don't care if you're the Captain's pet. Understand?"

Neal looked at her and said, "I wasn't going to. Your secret's safe with me."

From then on, they had themselves a nice truce.

-)()(-

It was a month before they found Adler, and even longer than that before they were able to take him down.

Neal had watched the remains of the once mighty ship burn and sink into the water, a part of him saddened at that. But he could always find another ship, one that could be his.

Back on land, the Governor had a different idea.

"Peter," Neal pleaded, "Please. I did what you wanted. I got you Adler!"

"It's not up to me," Peter said, only sounding a little bit sorry. "If they say they want you to do it again, it's out of my hands."

Neal looked away. He should have known. He should have known and he should have run when he'd had the chance. They'd promised him freedom and now they were taking it away from him entirely. He knew it wouldn't stop with one more. Peter knew it too.

"Look," his new companion said gently, "It's either this or they throw you back in that cell."

If was hardly fair, but Neal knew which choice he'd make. It wasn't much of a choice, in the end. He'd play their game, but only until he found an opportunity to escape. And not a moment after.


	9. Silver Fox

Peter was much older now, nearing the point where it interfered with his ability to be a field agent. If he wanted to stay with the bureau, he'd have to take an office job. The ASAC position was still on the table, and he would probably take it. For now, though, one last case out in the field.

Jones was still with him, along with another agent named Roderas. Good man. Still young, but he had the mind of a senior agent.

Peter had been working cases like tbis one long enough to get things done quickly, so as he burst into the room, gun drawn, he fully expected a fight, one that he'd handle as he always did.

Gunfire erupted and Jones was hit. Peter saw Roderas go to him, so he tried not to worry about that for now. Instead, he focused on ducking behind a wall, alternating between that and peering around the corner to shoot.

Things were going downhill fast. He should have seen this coming, but he hadn't. He hadn't, and now Jones was down, shots were still being fired, and they were outnumbered two to one.

There was a loud noise, not a gun, but something bigger, and the next time Peter snuck a glance around the wall, there was smoke. The other men looked just as confused as he was.

Then, out of the haze came a man. He wasn't anyone Peter recognized, not an agent anyway. He couldn't get a good look, but he knew his agents and this wasn't one. Yet he fought on their side, skillfully beginning to take down one bad guy after another. He didn't have a gun, but he could fight well enough.

Peter didn't waste a second, coming out and pointing his gun at the last two men and shouting, "Put your weapons down, now! Weapons down!"

They did so quickly after sparing a glance at their other two comrades on the floor.

Peter kept his gun on them and finally looked at the man who had come just in time.

He was tall, thin, but not scrawny. He had some muscle to him. His hair was a dark grey steel. He had his back turned so Peter couldn't see his face.

"Hey," Roderas called, "We need an ambulance. Jones is hit in the side."

"Call it in," Peter said. "I've got these guys."

The stranger stood oddly still, head bent as he seemed to think something over intently. Peter was still wary about him, but his duty as an agent came first. He cuffed all four men, then told Roderas to help Jones outside to wait for the ambulance.

Only then did he turn his attention to the stranger once again. "Who are you?" he demanded. "Why did you help us?"

The other man lifted his head once again, then slowly looked over his shoulder, revealing one side of his face. That was enough.

Peter stared in shock at Neal Caffrey, who stared right back.

"Peter."

His face was weathered some, but he still looked to be in his prime, aside from his hair, which was greying, as Peter's had. His eyes were more crinkled than when Peter had last seen him, and his eyes had seemed to grow bluer, but he was somehow still the same. Still the boy who refused to grow up.

"Neal."

"Agent Burke!" Roderas called from outside, "Let's go!"

Peter glanced back to reply, "I'm on my way out!"

When he looked back, Neal was gone.

-)()(-

Neal wanted so badly to stay. He'd lost so much in just the last two years, he just wanted an old friend there for company and comfort, but he knew he had to leave. He couldn't come back and tear apart their life again. It wouldn't be fair.

Today in that building had been completely coincidence, and he could have walked away and no one would be the wiser. But Peter was his friend. There wasn't a single part of him that considered not helping him.

Now, he stood in the dark, looking across the street at the Burkes' house and thinking of times long past when he would walk right up to the door with a smile on his face. Not now, though. His heart ached as he looked through the window, watching as Elizabeth, still so beautiful, put supper out on the table. Their son ran around with a much younger puppy until his father told him to settle down. It was time to eat.

Neal smiled. He'd had that. For three whole years he'd had that, and then it had been snatched away. Not by the forces of evil he and Peter had fought for so many years together. It was a mere accident that had taken his wife. Lucille.

And now his time on earth was short as well. He couldn't bring himself to step back into their life, only to be snatched away months later. No, he couldn't do that to them.

And yet he found himself crossing the street, hat pulled low over his eyes even if there was no point. There was no one else around.

He climbed those steps up to the door and paused, just looking at it. He so desperately wanted to raise his hand and knock, but then what? What would he tell them? How would he make up for what he'd done, what he'd put them through? And how could he possibly explain why he was here now when he didn't know the answer himself?

He knocked anyway. Maybe it was that part of him that knew he had nothing left to lose. Maybe it was the desperate, aching loneliness of the last two years creeping to the surface.

Elizabeth answered.

She didn't stare in shock. She didn't look angry. Instead, she practically yanked him across the threshold and into her arms, smiling brightly and almost crying when she said, "Oh, Neal... Welcome back."

-)()(-

Neal hadn't wanted to tell them, but he'd come this far. He'd met his namesake, a clever young boy with a fascination for cars and for reading. He'd been introduced to Charlie, the golden retriever. And the Burkes had welcomed him back without doubt or question.

He owed them the truth.

"I can't stay," he said, sitting on that old couch where he'd sat so many times before, getting lectured or working out a case.

"Why can't you?" Peter asked, the hope in his eyes dying a little. "You don't have to leave again."

"I do," he said. He explained why. He explained that he was going to die anyway, that there was nothing the doctors could do. He'd been given six months and that was three months ago. He didn't want to cause them any more pain by having them go through his death again, this time for real. He wanted it to be this way, to wander off like a sick dog and just disappear. It was easier for everyone, he said.

He was met with resistance, as expected, and he understood. They didn't want to see him go knowing he'd never come back. Peter even demanded they go to a doctor, a specialist, but Neal gently told him he'd already done everything there was to do. It was over.

"So this is how the great Neal Caffrey goes out," Peter whispered, his voice wavering. "Brain cancer."

Neal gave him a smile. "It is. Kind of a twisted irony there I think." He'd come to terms with it, and he was okay with what was to come. He couldn't expect the same from them.

"Mozzie?" Elizabeth asked quietly. "Does he know?"

Neal nodded. "I went to see him when I first got to New York a few days ago. He understood. I already said goodbye."

It had been much more difficult than that, but he didn't want to think about that lest he start crying again. This was hard enough without that memory of the pain and acceptance he'd seen in his friend's eyes.

"Please," Peter said again. "Stay. We want to... We want to be here for you."

Neal wanted to stick by his original plan, to say one final goodbye and walk out forever. What he ended up saying was, "As long as Elizabeth makes those Cornish game hens."

He'd come to learn something, one of the many lessons he'd learned after faking his death and beginning a new life.

Family was the strongest link between human beings. Without it, life, short as it was, couldn't have meaning. It was why there was good and bad, right and wrong. It was why Neal Caffrey was content to leave it all without a fight. He had all he needed right in front of him. And he'd be honored to die surrounded by his family.


	10. Role Switch

Neal sat at his desk, head tilted as he flipped through the latest file he'd chosen to focus on. He glanced up when Peter walked in, looking business as usual.

"What do we have? More mortgage fraud?"

Neal shook his head. "I'd never grab a mortgage fraud case out of a pile with far more interesting things."

"Such as?" Peter prompted.

Neal waved the file at him with a smirk. "Money laundering."

Peter's shoulders slumped. "That's almost worse."

"Ah, but this is a promising one. I've got a good feeling about it."

Peter took the file wordlessly and scanned it, shrugging in reluctant agreement after a while. "Alright, it could be something. I'll see what my street contacts have to say about this guy, Lawrence."

-)()(-

Peter Burke was a lucky man, Neal thought yet again as he stepped into the house and smelled Elizabeth's famous cooking. For the wife of a con, she was certainly something.

Peter's radius allowed him to continue living with her, one of the few luxuries he had while on an anklet with a two mile tether. Neal had brought over their current case files to compare notes, which always got them good results, as he was confident it would tonight.

"Oh, hey Neal," Elizabeth greeted. "Peter's upstairs changing his shirt. Don't ask."

"I might," Neal said, glancing towards the stairs. With Burke, you never knew. But he'd been getting better at the whole 'living a normal life' thing. Neal had a feeling that Elizabeth was to thank for that.

When Peter came trotting down the stairs, catching sight of Neal in the living room, he glanced at his watch. "You're here early."

"Did you have plans?" Neal asked pleasantly.

"If I did?"

"Save them for later."

Elizabeth announced that dinner was ready before they could get into it.

-)()(-

Neal wasn't exactly the most intimidating agent in the office. Actually, he was the least intimidating of all, but he made up for it with his charm and good looks. That was why Peter liked him. That and the way he handled his cases. He was quite fond of what he liked to call "grey areas" which meant Peter got to do what he did best in most situations. Neal never lied though. He was simply very very good at finding loopholes in the system.

Peter was surprised when he learned that the kid couldn't even fight. How he'd become an agent escaped him until a few months after their deal was made.

He ran fast and thought outside the box. He said it was because of a ton of track and field in high school, and Peter had even looked that up, finding it to be true.

Agent Neal Caffrey may have a different way of getting things done, but he got them done. That was part of the reason they had an 87% closure rate. The other part was Peter. He had a lot of connections and he could weasel his way into and out of just about any situation. The fact that he could bench press more than the average agent helped too.

They made an odd team, but no one could deny that they were practically unbeatable. They were slowly becoming well-known names in the FBI, and not just the New York White Collar Division. Neal had moved up to second in command behind Hughes, their ASAC. Peter liked Hughes, despite his grouchy exterior. He knew that sometimes proper procedure wasn't going to cut it, and even if he denied it later, he'd covered for them when they needed him to.

Peter had begun to like working with the FBI instead of against them, loathe as he was to admit it.

-)()(-

Neal made the motion for Peter to hang back as he peered around the corner, gun up and ready to use if need be. He never liked to shoot, and only did so when it was absolutely necessary, which was one of the things Peter admired about him. People with guns in their belts tended to get a little trigger happy. Especially when there was a badge next to that gun.

Peter stuck close, despite the signal. He knew how these things usually went.

He understood why the bureau wouldn't let him have his own gun, and he'd never ask for one, but in situations like these, he wished he could at least provide some cover fire for his handler, who had a habit of getting himself into trouble. Funny how that went.

Neal slipped around the corner, Peter close behind him, and they crept quickly into a darkened room.

Peter saw Neal lower the gun, his stance relaxing. All clear.

"They're gone."

-)()(-

Neal used speed to his advantage, rabbiting through the large room where gunfire filled the air and men with guns that actually worked fired at him. His own gun had jammed, of course, right in the middle of a time he actually needed to use it. He'd never been a gun guy anyway, so it was probably his fault somehow.

Peter was somewhere here, but he hadn't been answering his phone after they'd lost the feed from the earpiece, so Neal was willing to bet that he'd run into some trouble, hence the dramatic rescue.

He felt the wind from a bullet that just missed his ear as he slid through the door on the opposite side of the room and then slammed it shut quickly, panting.

"Took you long enough," Peter grumbled from his position in a chair, hands and feet zip tied. "I think my cover's blown," he added sarcastically.

Neal cut the zip ties easily. "You think so, Sherlock? Let's go, I don't have a gun."

-)()(-

Neal stood, leaning against the door frame while Peter sat on the couch, mouth drawn in a line.

"Tell you what," Neal said, breaking the silence. He reached into his pocket and brought out his badge, which he handed to Peter. "Just for tonight, I'm not an agent. Say what you need to say."

Peter took the badge and held it in his hand, looking at it curiously. "Full immunity?"

"Full immunity."

Peter gave him a slow smile, setting the badge on the table between them. "Deal."

They spoke for hours, learning a surprising amount about each other. Peter hadn't know that Neal had grown up in Witness Protection, and Neal hadn't known that Peter had played baseball in college, almost making it to the minor league.

"I guess once you take away the badge and the anklet, we're just..."

Neal smiled. "Friends?"

Peter smiled back. "Yeah. We're just friends."


	11. Genderbent

(Alright, so I won't be around until after Tuesday because I have a huge math exam I need to ace. Nothing but blind panic from now till after that's over, so I will be back then. Farewell for now, lovelies~)

Peter hung up the phone and sighed, "Dammit, Nell..."

"What?" Elizabeth questioned. "What'd she do this time?"

Peter shook his head. "Nothing yet, but she just pitched me one of her crazy ideas, and I don't like it."

"But..." Elizabeth prompted.

"But," Peter admitted, "It's genius." He threw his hands up. "Of course it is. She always does this. Why couldn't I have gotten a male CI? Men are easier to handle."

"Sweetie, I'm pretty sure Nell would be the same if she were a man. Maybe a little tougher."

Peter hummed, smiling at the amusing thought. "Well, I'd better go make sure her and Mozzie don't get into trouble planning their little con." He gave his wife a quick kiss. "I'll be back in time for dinner, I promise."

"I'll hold you to that!" she called after him.

-)()(-

Nell glanced up when she heard Peter come in and she smiled. "Glad you decided to join us."

"I'll have you know," Peter started.

"Yeah, yeah," Nell said. "Nothing illegal, but you're still not happy about it."

"You do this too often," Peter muttered.

"Well, unless you've got a better way..."

Mozzie had been standing nearby, silently glaring, and when Peter glanced at him, he greeted coldly, "Suit."

"Mozzie."

"Peter," Nell said. "Good. We're all caught up. Now what do you say?" She kept that grin on her face, and Peter sighed for what felt like the tenth time. "Fine."

"Don't worry," Nell teased. "You're still in charge."

"Just tell me what exactly we'll be doing."

Nell gestured to the crinkled paper laid out on the table, covered with lines and symbols. "This."

Peter squinted at it. "That's what we did for the Fisher case. You think that'll work again?"

"With a few minor changes," Mozzie said. "We won't need to take such drastic measures this time."

"And by 'we' he means me," Nell said.

"Of course," Peter said, reluctantly getting on board with the whole idea. "Tell me what I'll be doing."

-)()(-

Peter sat in the lobby, pretending to read a magazine, but he glanced up when he spotted Nell walk in through the front door, hat on head as usual. She spared him a glance as she passed and winked at him, but before Peter could shoot her a glare for it, she had moved her attention to the lady at the front desk.

Peter watched as she turned on the charm, smiling that smile while the two talked. He had to wonder again how different this would be if he'd taken on a male CI instead of Nell. First off, there would be no charming his way through every situation. And he'd probably get into a lot less trouble. Nell was special in that way. She was a magnet for trouble.

As he watched, Peter saw her nod and smile at the secretary, then walk on past. Ever the one with words.

Now it was Peter's turn. He stood and walked up to the desk, flashing his badge. "Special Agent Peter Burke. I need to ask you a few questions."

-)()(-

Nell picked the lock on Baldwin's office easily and slipped inside. It took her but a moment to find the locked drawer in his desk and she knew that must be it. After some more picking, the drawer opened and she leafed through the files inside until she found what she was looking for and took some pictures with her phone.

Now to actually do what she came to do. No need for Peter to know she'd taken a little side trip.

She walked down the hall until she found the right office and knocked on the door, ready to use her silver tongue to get the information they needed.

Ew, no, not in that way. What's wrong with you?

It took significantly longer than she thought it would take, but she got everything she came for. As she strolled back down the hall, she spotted Baldwin returning to his office and quickly walked past, trying not to be noticed.

He was too busy talking angrily on the phone to notice her.

Back down in the lobby, Peter was nowhere to be seen, probably already out in the car waiting.

Nell slipped into the passenger seat with a grin and said, "Mission accomplished. We're looking for an Edward Dunn. Ring any bells?"

"Nope," Peter replied. "But I'm sure he'll pop up once I do a little digging."

-)()(-

Nell stood out on the balcony at June's, gazing out over the night life of the city that never slept. She brought her phone out of her pocket and looked again at the pictures she'd taken of that file, which had been part of a favor for Mozzie. She was always glad to help her friend, even if it meant going behind Peter's back.

This time felt different and she wasn't sure why. She felt like she'd done something wrong, and that had never really happened to her before. Right and wrong were only ideas based on circumstance. This time, it was concrete, a fact. That was Peter's way of thinking.

"Nell Georgina Caffrey," she sighed to herself. "What are you thinking?"

She was thinking no more secrets. She was thinking no more distrust. She was thinking she maybe wanted to prove herself to Peter.

But all that was impossible. Not with the life she led, the life she continued to lead.

For now, she was who she'd always been. Just... a little softer, a little more inclined to follow the rules for the sake of the ones she cared about.

Peter would understand after the fact, she knew.

Peter always understood.

-)()(-

Peter looked down from his office as Nell walked through the door, removing her hat to place on top of that little Socrates bust she kept on her desk for that very purpose, he was sure.

He watched as she greeted the agents around her with that smile of hers.

No, he thought, nothing could come close to replacing her, and he didn't want to think about what would have happened if he'd taken Hughes' advice that day. When an agent took on a CI, it was highly recommended that they work with one of the same gender. For obvious reasons.

But Nell wasn't like that. Their relationship was that of friends and coworkers, nothing else. Even Elizabeth had understood after meeting Nell that the con was certainly smart and genuinely wanted to help. There was no harm in accepting her offer.

Peter never wanted to know what would have happened if he'd refused that offer. Things would have certainly gone differently.

As he observed Nell and her interactions with the other agents, he smiled. No, he thought. He liked the way things were.


	12. Dark

(OK well I'm back sooner than I thought. Still got that exam tomorrow but I think I'm ready. Wish me luck!)

The look in Neal's eyes was unfamiliar and unsettling. They held hatred, something Peter never thought he'd see in them so strongly. The worst part of it was that the hatred was directed at Peter himself. Actually, no, the worst part was the gun being pointed at his chest.

"Neal," Peter started, but another man, a stranger, spoke up from the darkness of the night, somewhere over Neal's shoulder.

"Don't bother. He only listens to me." As if to prove his point, he ordered, "Neal, flick the safety off that thing, will you?"

Neal did so without hesitation, his gaze never breaking from Peter's.

"Put your finger on the trigger."

Peter saw Neal's finger shift into place obediently, almost eager to take it a step further.

The man hidden in shadow laughed. "You see?"

"What'd you do to him?" Peter demanded.

"I freed him," came the reply. "From you. Look at him now. A perfect soldier, obedient only to me." Another short chuckle. "Ah, the things mankind can do these days. All it takes is a little persuasion, and some training of course. Neal here is one of my best."

Peter looked at his old friend closely. He'd changed in the two weeks he'd been missing. His skin was paler, and his eyes were cold, the blue in them turned a silvery grey. "I'd like to see your definition of persuasion," he snorted.

"Neal," the man said, ignoring that last statement, "Take a walk."

Neal lowered the gun, putting the safety back on and shoving it back in his pants. Without so much as a second glance at Peter, he turned and walked off, further down the street until he disappeared around the corner.

Peter watched him go, mind racing as he tried to think of a solution to this mess. He'd finally found Neal, but things had become more complicated than that. Now he had to find a way to save his friend from this... this psychopath.

"I know what you must think of me," that voice purred. "And I don't blame you for not seeing things the way I do. You're a simple man. You follow the rules."

"Let him go," Peter said. "Whatever you did to him, undo it. I can make things easy for you."

"If I had the time and patience, I could make you do whatever I want," the man grinned. "But you're of no use to me. I just came to collect my little soldier before you could ruin all the progress I've made. Run along now. Give up, Agent Burke."

Peter saw the shadowy figure begin to leave, and he stood there, conflicted. What was he supposed to do? He wasn't giving up on Neal. Not Neal.

"Suit!"

"Mozzie?" Peter exclaimed, turning to see Neal's friend jogging towards him. The shadowy man paused as well.

"I got Neal!" Mozzie called, "Do what you gotta do!"

At once, the figure of the other man moved, racing off, and Peter gave chase, relieved that he had an ally in this game. Mozzie would make sure Neal was alright.

-)()(-

Neal felt nothing as he aimed a gun at Peter's chest. If Jack told him to do it, he'd do it. When Jack spoke, you listened. He'd learned that, if nothing else during his time with the man.

He listened to every word and obeyed without hesitation.

Some small part of him still balked at what he was doing, especially when he laid his finger over the trigger, ready to give it a tug if he was told. That small part was insignificant. He'd been conditioned to ignore it.

"Take a walk."

He was reluctant to leave. He never wanted to be away from Jack for too long because when he was away from Jack, he had no orders. He'd go around the block once. That was all.

He went around the first corner, then something hit him, causing him to see stars, and when his vision cleared, he was on his hands and knees, blinking at the sidewalk beneath him in surprise.

The something hit him again, and he collapsed to the ground with a grunt.

It seemed like only a moment passed before he woke again, somewhere quiet. There was something soft beneath him instead of the sidewalk where he'd fallen, and there were voices speaking nearby.

He opened his eyes, a little dazed. Okay, a lot dazed. His thoughts were muddled and confusing, and his head hurt like hell.

He must have made a noise or something because at once, there was Peter.

Neal didn't listen to a word he said, suddenly panicked because where was Jack? "Where is he?!"

"It's okay, he can't get to you anymore."

"No," Neal gasped, "You don't understand. I need him!" He struggled to get up, but Peter pushed him back down.

"Take it easy, Neal. We're trying to help you."

But Neal was determined and he threw himself against Peter's hands, making the man stumble back and leaving him free to make a run for the door.

He didn't see Mozzie.

A foot shot out to trip him, and Neal fell onto his stomach with a groan. Before he could get up, Peter appeared once again, digging a knee into his back. There was the familiar feeling of handcuffs around his wrists, then he was hauled to his feet. He still struggled, shouting nonsense, but Peter was stronger. He dragged him back to the couch and Neal fought him the whole way.

They didn't understand. He needed Jack. Jack was the one who told him what to do. He knew what happened when he was away for too long and it wasn't pleasant. Already, his head throbbed with pain and his stomach twisted inside him.

But they wouldn't let him go, and after a while, he stopped struggling against Peter's hands. He sat there, hands cuffed behind him "for your own safety" they said. He fidgeted nervously, glancing at Peter, then Mozzie, then the door. He ground his teeth and shifted every few seconds, hands trembling.

Why were they doing this? Couldn't they see it was torture to him?

"Just hang in there," Peter said calmly. "It'll wear off after a while."

Neal shot him a glare. "Fuck you," he growled. That small part of him flinched at the words, but he didn't care.

Nobody spoke again for what felt like hours. Peter sat close by, ready to stop him if he tried to run. Mozzie stood off to the side.

Neal sat there in misery and silent rage.

-)()(-

Neal opened his eyes, blinking. His neck was sore from his head being bent forward for so long, though he wasn't sure how long that was. Puzzled, he lifted his head to look around, spotting Peter sitting in the chair across from him.

His friend sat up, seeing he was awake, and his eyes were hopeful as he said, "Hey, how you feeling?"

"Fine," Neal replied. "Why? What happened?"

Mozzie spoke, startling him. "Probably best you don't know."

Neal furrowed his brow, looking back and forth between them. "Who drugged me?"

At Peter's questioning look, he said, "I've experienced it enough to know. Now are you going to tell me or do I have to guess?"

"Don't worry about it right now," Peter said. He stood, coming over and reaching behind Neal to unlock the cuffs Neal hadn't noticed until then.

"You're right," he mumbled, bringing his hands around to run at his wrists. "I don't want to know."


	13. Teen

Peter had been expecting something different when he'd offered to sponsor Neal Caffrey as part of a release program for troubled youth. Most teenagers in the program were bitter, angry, and a huge handful, so he'd prepared for the worst. Really, it was Elizabeth's idea.

But after meeting Neal for the first time, he was stunned to find that the kid was anything but bitter and angry. He smiled, he was polite, and he certainly didn't seem like he belonged in a place like that, which was basically prison for juvenile delinquents. Peter signed the forms and in less than an hour, he and Neal were driving home.

"Did you choose me or did they assign me to you?" Neal asked, only curious, by the sound of it.

"I read through your file," Peter replied. "And, yeah, I picked you out from the rest. But don't think that makes you special or anything."

He saw Neal smile. "Of course not."

-)()(-

The 'work' part of the work release was that Neal would help Elizabeth with anything she needed. Neal had been excited to help plan events right from the get-go, and he got along well with her.

"What do you do?" he'd asked Peter that first morning, seeing him sorting through case files on the kitchen table. "Are you a detective?"

"Guess again."

"A fed?"

"Got it on the second try."

Neal had seemed quite intrigued. "So you catch bad guys then. What's your closure rate?"

Peter looked at the kid, brow furrowed. "Don't you have a gala to help prepare?"

Neal made a face, but left Peter alone with his files. Peter watched him go curiously. What kind of sixteen-year-old asked about closure rate?

Over the next week, Neal kept showing interest in whatever work Peter brought home with him. He'd ask questions until Peter didn't want to answer, then try again the next day.

Elizabeth noticed quickly and one night, as they stayed up a little later than usual, she commented, "Neal almost seems more interested in your FBI work than whatever I give him to do."

Peter hummed. "He does."

"Maybe you can let him sit in some nights," she suggested. "There's no harm in letting him look over your cases with you. He might like that."

Peter smiled at her. "Yeah, and who knows? Maybe he'll solve one for me."

He'd said it jokingly.

-)()(-

"Uh, Peter?" Jones said, peering into his office. "Neal's here."

Peter blinked. But when he looked, sure enough, there was Neal, smiling at one of the female agents down in the bullpen.

"Thanks, Jones, send him up here."

When Neal stepped into his office, Peter shook his head, spreading his hand out. "What are you doing? Does El know you're here?"

"I came to help," Neal said excitedly. "Look, look." He set a familiar case file on Peter's desk and Peter shot him an incredulous look.

"You took this? Neal!"

"Just listen!" Neal insisted, opening the file. "You've been after this Dutchman guy for a long time now, right? Well, what if I told you I knew where to find him?"

"I'm calling Elizabeth. She'll come pick you up."

Neal gave him a hurt look. "I told you, I can help!"

Peter pointed at him. "The only person you're supposed to be helping is my wife. Now go wait for her out front."

Neal looked like he wanted to argue, but he did as he was told without a word.

-)()(-

Peter walked through the large space full of books and printing equipment. Neal was waiting for him, that grin back on his face as he opened the door to Hagan's office and beckoned Peter inside.

Peter shook his head with a small smile. "I can't believe you did this."

Neal shrugged. "Just doing my part. But admit it. You never would have caught him without me."

"I'm sure I would have eventually," Peter said, stepping further into the office. He paused when he caught sight of the open safe in the corner and what was inside it. "Is that the original Spanish Victory Bond?"

"Why yes," Neal smirked. "Yes, it is."

-)()(-

Peter began letting Neal help more with cases until he'd pretty much stolen the kid from Elizabeth, who didn't mind at all.

Neal had a knack for solving cases and the amount of information he seemed to know off the top of his head was astounding. His math was better than Jones' even.

He started spending more and more time at the office until Peter just gave him his own desk.

Neal became quite the popular teen around the White Collar agents. Nearly everyone considered him a junior agent and he was treated as such, almost respectfully.

Neal, of course, was over the top about the whole setup. His personality began to shine through, little things that were all him. Like how he started wearing these hats that made him look like a cartoon and how he started making dinner some nights when no one had even been aware that he could cook.

And, of course, he solved cases alongside Peter and the rest of the team until he was, without a doubt, one of them.

That closure rate of Peter's shot up to 85%.

-)()(-

Neal stayed with them for two years, but when he turned eighteen, his probation was over and he was no longer obligated to stay.

He knew it, everyone knew it.

The morning after cake, ice cream, and presents, Peter came downstairs to find Neal sitting at the table as usual, and he prepared himself to have the talk he knew had been coming. What now?

Neal glanced over at Peter's approach and his eyes lit up. "Morning. Hey, I wanted to ask you something."

"Yeah, sure," Peter said, sliding into a chair beside him.

Neal hesitated before questioning innocently, "Do you think I could become a real agent someday?"

Peter tilted his head. "I don't know. It depends on what you're willing to do to get there, I suppose. Why? Interested?"

"You know it," Neal grinned. "So, I guess what I wanted to know was... Would you be terribly put off if I stayed with you? Just a little longer?"

Peter couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. "It wouldn't hurt my feelings."

Neal actually leaned over and hugged him tightly, whispering, "Yes! I won't let you down, I promise."

"I know you won't."


	14. Small Child

Danny had to work hard to get the zipper on his backpack to close properly, but he did it. Now there was only one thing missing.

Hopping down off his bed, he crawled underneath to grope for the hat he kept under there. Mom didn't even know he had it still. She didn't like hats. Especially these hats.

After finding his prize, Danny scooted back out and brought it up in front of his face to rub the dust off it. He smiled before placing it proudly on his head where it belonged. Now he looked like a real policeman.

He stood again and pulled his backpack down off the bed, slipping it over his shoulders. Tonight was the night he'd finally decided to get out on his own. He was ten. That was plenty old enough to take care of himself. Besides, he'd told himself, Mom won't notice you're gone.

She hardly paid attention to him anymore, taking off for days at a time. So yes, he knew how to take care of himself.

It was easy to sneak outside, and Danny walked down the street with a spring in his step. He was going to St Louis. That was where he'd start, anyway. That was where they had lived with his dad. From there, he'd go on to become the best cop in the world, except unlike his dad, he wouldn't get killed for it.

The night was colder than he'd anticipated and Danny pulled his jacket more securely around himself, shoving his hands in his pockets.

The hat on his head kept slipping down over his eyes, so he had to keep pushing it back up to see where he was going.

He walked for what felt like a very long time, but he knew it was only an hour or so. His dad's watch read 10:07 and he'd left home around 9:00.

The backpack on his shoulders grew heavy, and he shifted it several times before deciding to take a break. He was on the edge of a park, so he sat down on a bench and set his bag beside him.

No sooner had he done that then a stranger's voice called, "Hey, kid!"

Danny jumped, startled, and the hat slipped back down over his eyes. When he lifted it, there was a young man standing in front of him, head tilted. "What are you doing out here so late?" He noticed the backpack and seemed to answer the question himself.

Danny watched the stranger as he crouched down, asking, "What's your name?"

"Danny," he replied.

"Hello, Danny," the man smiled. "My name is Peter. Would you mind telling me where your parents are? I'm sure they're worried about you."

Danny shook his head. He knew this game. If he said where his parents were, this man would just take him back. "It's just me. I'm ten, so I can take care of myself."

Peter said nothing for a moment, thinking. Then he reached out to tap Danny's hat. "Is this yours?"

Danny shook his head. "It was my dad's but he gave it to me. I'm gonna be a cop just like him."

"Well maybe we should give him a call."

"Can't," Danny said. "He died." The admission made him sad, and he ducked his head a bit, making the hat slip down once more. He suddenly felt that he shouldn't be wearing it.

Peter was silent for a while, then he sighed. "I don't think your dad would want you to run away."

"I'm not running away," Danny insisted. "I'm going to St Louis."

"What about your mom?"

"She won't miss me. She has Eric."

"Oh, I think she'd miss you a lot," Peter said. "I think she already misses you."

"How come?" Danny questioned.

"Because she needs you," Peter replied. "You're the man of the house, right?"

Danny nodded, seeing where this was going. "Does that mean I gotta take care of her now? Like dad did?"

"Mmhm," Peter hummed. "So what do you say? Shall I walk you back home?"

Danny nodded, slipping off the bench. Peter picked up his backpack for him and together, they started walking.

Mom was upset when he and Peter showed up on the doorstep and Peter calmly explained that Danny had just gotten lost, that's all.

The grown-ups talked for a while and Danny was given a stern scolding, but Mom didn't seem too angry after speaking with Peter.

When Peter made to leave, wishing them a good night, Danny hurried over to give him a hug and and a thank you. Peter smiled down at him, ruffling his hair. "You're welcome. Now you listen to your mom, okay? Do that for me."

"Kay," Danny promised, "I will."

-)()(-

Neal smiled, and beside him, Peter shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe that was you."

The memory had only just clicked, and Neal had connected the rather shocking pieces. He remembered the face of the man who had walked him home that night, and yes, it was Peter. A much younger Peter, but it was him alright.

"How old were you then?" Neal asked. "You couldn't have been an agent yet."

"No," Peter replied, "I was about twenty. I hadn't even started Quantico."

They sat in silence for a while until Neal laughed. "Mom took my hat that night and threw it away. I was so upset I went digging around in the dumpster for it."

"Did you find it?"

"I did. But it was pretty well ruined."

"Your first hat," Peter smirked. "Taken too soon."

"No, my first hat was a little red bucket I wore around the house when I was two," Neal chuckled. "Don't bother looking for pictures. I destroyed them all."

"So you say," Peter teased. "That's what I thought about my moustache days."

He was now determined to locate a picture of a little Neal Caffrey with a bucket on his head, probably grinning like there was no tomorrow.


	15. Ghost

At first, Peter ignored the incessant tapping from across the room. However, after a few minutes, he sighed, glancing up. "Would you please stop?"

Neal sighed as well, but obediently set the pen back on the desk where it belonged. "I can't help it. I'm bored."

"Then go find something to do, as long as you don't bother anyone."

Neal rested his elbows on Peter's desk, chin in hands. "Easy for you to say. You're not stuck in this building for the rest of eternity," he muttered.

Peter's jaw twitched at that, and he said nothing. It may have been a few years, but that day would be stuck in his mind forever...

It had been a normal Wednesday. Middle of the week, slow case, no new leads, and the office had been quiet. Until the gunfire started.

Neal had been at his desk, closest to the door, and Peter had seen him throw himself to the floor, eyes wide as four masked men barged inside, guns blazing in some half-witted attempt to send a message.

Peter had ducked behind his desk as well, and for nine whole minutes, the bureau was utter chaos. Agents screamed, most pulled their guns and returned fire, and by the time it was over, all four gunmen were dead, as were a few agents.

Peter had immediately shouted out, "Who's injured?"

He'd never forget racing down to the bullpen and finding Jones with Diana, standing behind her desk, both gasping that they were okay, just rattled.

There were two agents on the floor, unmoving, and Peter knew they were dead. Agent Stills and Agent Bradley, both good men.

Then he found Neal.

The man was over by Agent Cruz's desk, bent over her protectively, and at first, Peter didn't think much of it. Then Neal's body moved and Lauren crawled out from under him, hardly able to speak as tears filled her eyes and her hands shook.

There was blood all over her, but it wasn't hers, Peter quickly realized. It was Neal's. He wasn't moving, and when Peter turned him over, his eyes were glazed and unseeing. The image would haunt him for weeks to follow. He later found out that he'd taken two bullets to the back. He'd died almost instantly, they told him, but that didn't make him feel any better.

And if he felt guilty, Cruz felt ten times worse. She didn't say anything to her coworkers, but Peter was relieved to hear that she'd gone to a therapy session or two. It was recommended for all the agents who were there that day.

"Hey." Neal snapped his fingers, breaking Peter from his thoughts. "Stop that. It wasn't your fault."

Peter hated how Neal seemed to know what he was thinking. "I know," he muttered bitterly, "It was yours."

Neal nodded. "Yes, it was. I thought we'd discerned that already. By the way, it's Hadley."

"What?"

Neal gestured to the stack of files on the desk. "Third one down. The guy you want is Paul Hadley. Just so you know."

Peter smiled, shaking his head. "Still useful as ever. Too bad ghosts don't need money or I'd pay you."

Neal scoffed, flipping his hat in his hands. "Funny. You never paid me when I was alive."

"Hey Peter?" Jones appeared in the doorway, unaware of Neal's presence. "I think I got something on the Markus case. Guy named Paul Hadley. Does that mean anything to you?"

Peter caught Neal's self-satisfied smirk, but ignored it. "Not yet. Get me what you can. Good job, Jones."

After the other agent left, Neal looked at Peter. "Good work, Jones," he repeated. "You're welcome."

"That only proves that if you had gone into the light or whatever, I still have other people I can rely on," Peter said.

Neal went back to playing with his hat.

-)()(-

Neal paced around in the office, going from his old desk to Peter's and back. It was night, the worst time because that meant all was quiet and there was no one around for company. He didn't sleep, so that meant hours of loneliness for him.

Or not, he thought when he heard the elevator begin to hum. He paused, looking toward the doors hopefully. Sure enough, someone stepped out, but it wasn't anyone he recognized. Whoever the guy was, he avoided the cameras quite nicely, a hat pulled down over his face.

Neal narrowed his eyes, walking alongside him unnoticed as the stranger went straight up to Peter's office. Clearly this wasn't acceptable behavior, so Neal shut the door in his face when he went to step inside.

He enjoyed the look of surprise on the other's face. But it didn't deter him for long. He opened the door again, walking into the office and over to the computer.

Neal shook his head, rolling his eyes. As the intruder turned on the monitor, Neal simply bent down and unplugged it.

The stranger grew frustrated very quickly, and Neal only continued with little things like that. He kept unplugging the computer until the man gave up, then held the door handle when he tried to leave. He flicked the light on, then off, amused by the steadily growing terror on the other man's face. Once, he even swept a leg at the man's feet, tripping him. He kept this up until morning when the first agent walked in. After that, all he had to do was stand back and smirk to himself as he watched the whole thing play out.

By the time Peter got there, everyone had seen the footage on the security cameras, though none but Peter could see Neal himself.

Neal was sitting in his old handler's chair when Peter walked in, trying to remain serious when he asked, "You wouldn't happen to know anything about the guy in the interrogation room, would you?"

Neal spread his hands in an innocent gesture. "Hey, I was minding my own business. He came here."

"Out of my chair."

Neal did as he was told, moving to stand near the door as usual.

Peter got to work again, but after a moment, Neal cleared his throat pointedly.

"You're welcome."


	16. Technopath

Neal scratched absently at the base of his neck where the clip of his collar sat at the moment. The newer model was much more comfortable, made of softer material and less bulky than the first. It fit snugly against his skin, almost unnoticeable if it was fastened right and if he wore his suit with the tie pushed up tight enough.

He understood, he really did. The FBI would never trust a technopath anywhere near their computers. As long as they didn't need him to use his abilities, the collar remained in place, preventing him from reaching out with his mind.

This came with its downsides, of course. He'd had to start carrying a phone around, no longer able to send texts himself. He'd also had to give up the little things that had made life easier back when he was on the run. No more messing with ATMs, or deleting his information from the internet, or mental GPS. None of it really mattered anymore anyway.

Still, when they did let him free on occasion, he enjoyed it. He drew it out as long as reasonably possible. The familiar and comforting hum of technology was always welcome, however briefly it lasted.

-)()(-

Data filled his head, taking over his thoughts for the moment as he adjusted to the sudden influx of information again. That was getting harder every time the collar came off as it all came flooding back.

Neal blinked a few times, then glanced at Peter with a nod. "I got it."

Together, they walked into the meeting with Shears, whom they suspected had ties to the smuggling of priceless Egyptian artifacts. Peter did most of the talking while Neal only half listened to the conversation.

The building was alive with activity, and he tapped into it, searching for anything useful. There were endless files, mostly of Shears' front company, but it was easy to find what he was looking for. Case as good as closed. He nodded to Peter to show that he had it.

Meanwhile, the printer in Peter's office began printing out their evidence.

-)()(-

It was dark out. Neal stood still, staring down the sidewalk at a familiar figure leaning up against a streetlight, smoking.

Keller waved and Neal huffed a little, not believing his luck. If Keller was back, much less showing himself, he wanted something, and that never ended well.

Neal walked over, putting on his most unimpressed face. "What do you want, Keller?"

The man smiled like he was talking to an old friend. "Straight to the point, huh? I like that." He tilted his head, squinting. "They still got ya tethered, I see. That's gonna have to come off if you're gonna help me."

"I didn't plan on it," Neal replied.

"Oh come on, Neal," Keller said, "Don't you remember? We were unstoppable together." He held up one hand, making Neal almost flinch because he knew what those hands were capable of. But Keller only grinned. "I still got free use of my power. I think that makes me the boss in this situation."

"I already asked what you wanted."

"Good." The hand lowered. "I want you to do your techno thing and grab me some information."

"You'll have to wait for the FBI to take the collar off again. I'm not cutting it."

"You don't have to," Keller smirked. He raised his hand again and made a swiping motion through the air. Neal about choked as the collar tightened then snapped, falling onto the ground.

He hadn't prepared himself, so when the loud chaos of technology filled his head, he gasped and fell to one knee, desperately trying to rein it all in. It took him a minute to do so, then he got his feet back under him and shot a glare at Keller.

"Let's go," Keller said. "Before your friends show up."

"You're forgetting the part about leverage," Neal snapped. He already knew Keller had something to hold over his head. He just wasn't looking forward to knowing what it was. But he had to. Otherwise he wasn't going anywhere.

"Check my phone," Keller said. "You'll see it." With that, he started off down the street and Neal narrowed his eyes, focusing on the phone in the man's pocket. He found it in the pictures. It was Mozzie.

He followed Keller.

-)()(-

By the time Peter got there, it was too late. Keller was gone and Neal was sitting on the floor by the wall, one arm raised due to the metal pipe twisted around it, keeping him there. When he saw Peter, he shook his head. "I didn't have a choice."

"What, did he kidnap your girlfriend?"

"Mozzie."

"Close enough. Did you get anything from him?"

Neal shook his head. "The phone he had was a burner. The only thing on it was Mozzie's picture. He got it specifically for that reason."

Once they'd freed Neal's arm, the collar was fastened back in place and Neal sighed as his mind quieted down. He was almost jealous of Keller. Controlling metal was simple. Controlling technology was a pain.

-)()(-

"Ready?" Peter asked, and Neal nodded, sitting in the conference room with Diana and Jones as well.

The collar came off and Neal closed his eyes, but didn't try to control his power anymore. Instead, he let it go, reaching out as far as possible. He wasn't aware of his body at all anymore, sifting through gigabytes of information every second. New York was a big city, so it took what felt like hours before he stopped, locking onto something that had jumped out at him.

He came back to himself with a jolt, blinking several times as numbers and words and pictures still swirled in front of his vision. But he could see Peter there, so he gasped, "Grand Central."

He put the collar back on himself, sighing in relief. Peter let him stay behind, and Neal sat in his handler's office, rubbing his temples.

Since when did it take so much effort for him to search a city? He felt like he was losing control of his ability the longer he remained collared.

He wasn't sure that was a bad thing, really. Maybe even after his sentence was over, they'd let him keep it. He was enjoying the peace and quiet it allowed him to have.

Maybe once this was all over, he'd stay.


	17. Angel

Niel held his wings proudly behind his back, not letting the tips brush the floor as he followed his escort down the brightly lit hallway. He wasn't afraid. He'd done what he'd had to do and if his own garrison turned on him for it, so be it.

As they entered a large, dark room, the angels on either side left and Niel was alone with the single one sitting across the heavily decorated area.

"Niel," the smooth voice said, "You know why I brought you here." A statement, not a question. Not making him say it out loud, but Niel wanted to anyway.

"I saved the life of an innocent young woman who was about to be hit by a truck on her way home from work."

"You sabotaged our duty," the other snapped, "Don't try and make it into something heroic. That woman's time had come."

"We're not reapers of death," Niel snarled, "You may have forgotten our true duty, but I remember."

"Funny," the other angel laughed, "Three months ago, you were slaughtering children on the playground."

"Not knowingly," Niel growled, "I've had my eyes opened. You're no angel. You're just a prick with wings, flying around pretending to be God. But you're the devil, Obie."

Obadiah stood, stormy grey wings curling around him. "Niel… I'm giving you one more chance to stop this. You've gone crazy. Let me help you."

"I'd definitely be crazy if I accepted help from the likes of you," Niel said, standing his ground. If they killed him, he wouldn't go down without putting up a fight.

But Obadiah just bowed his head and sighed heavily. "I'm sorry to have to do this, Niel. You were a good little soldier."

"We're not your soldiers," Niel countered.

"No," Obadiah agreed, "You're not."

Bright lightning shot towards him and Niel barely had time to shield his face before the floor seemed to vanish and he was left falling. The tangle of lightning wrapped around him, searing his wings and making him scream in pain.

They were trying to take them.

Thrashing and struggling, Niel fought like a wild thing, clawing his way free of the fire. But he was still falling and he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the impact with the earth.

It came fast and he cried out as one of his wings ended up beneath him while dirt sprayed up around him. He slid a few feet, then everything went still. Rain poured and thunder boomed as Niel groaned pitifully, trying to get his legs under him so he could stand, albeit shakily.

His good wing stretched high, offering him a bit of balance, but the other wouldn't move from its position in the mud. Both were charred black. Niel lifted his head and froze at once.

A pair of wide, blue eyes stared back at him and he tried to step back. He wasn't supposed to be seen. But that step turned into a stumble and he fell once again, this time not bothering to get up.

The sensation of rain on his skin eventually faded out and he let his eyes slip shut.

-)()(-

Niel woke slowly, feeling warm and safe. His wing was the first thing he noticed besides that, the pain shooting through it. He gasped quietly, opening his eyes.

At once, there was someone beside him, that woman he'd seen last night. She regarded him almost cautiously, not saying a word as she looked at him, blue eyes slightly widened.

Niel blinked slowly, looking around. He was inside, lying on his stomach with his face pressed against a small pillow on a comfortable couch. The woman —Elizabeth. He knew of her— finally spoke up hesitantly. "Are you okay? Can I get you anything?"

Niel shook his head a bit, sitting up slowly to look behind at his wings. They were folded neatly at his back, one of them wrapped in bandages up near the crest where it hurt the most. Blood had stained through, but it certainly felt better than it had last night. He wasn't sure what to say. He was greatly pleased that this woman had helped him, but he had no idea how he could thank her. He may still have his wings, but he was no more an angel than any human being. He was powerless.

"I did the best I could," Elizabeth spoke up again. "But I think you should get that looked at by a professional. Do you... know anyone you trust with...?" She gestured to his wings, and Niel looked at her in puzzlement. "I... I don't know anyone here..."

She wasn't put off by that at all, smiling sympathetically in understanding. "Okay, well I thought I'd ask."

Niel smiled back at her. "You did fine. I think this should be enough. Thank you."

Elizabeth was kind and sweet. She asked his name, which he gave, and she sat and talked with him for a while. Since Niel had nowhere else to go, she insisted that he stay, and he decided not to argue.

-)()(-

He met Peter when he came home from work. Elizabeth calmly introduced the two and after that, it became Peter who stuck around with him the most. Oddly enough, both of these humans seemed to be alright with him staying, despite what he was. Niel wasn't about to complain. He'd get his blessings where he could.

Over the next couple weeks, his wing healed and he was pleased to find that he had gotten nearly full mobility back in it.

The Burkes became close friends of his, and they taught him more than he could ever hope to learn about their world. Niel was soon wearing clothes like them (mostly because they left him no option. He knew how humans were with their clothing), and he was eager to listen to their teachings. He was surprised by his own lack of knowledge, which he immediately set out to remedy.

It was one evening when Peter was home early that Niel learned about the FBI, some organization humans used to try and bring justice down on bad people. Niel rather admired the idea, even if it was clearly a useless endeavor. There would always be evil, no matter what. All the same, he perched over Peter's shoulder, watching and listening as his friend worked through one such case. The answer to the problem being tackled was obvious, and Niel said so himself.

Peter seemed oddly excited by what Niel told him, and he asked more questions, all of which Niel answered, confused. But if Peter was happy, he was happy.

Peter began asking for Niel's help regularly until Niel just went with him pretty much everywhere, answering questions asked and helping Peter find and catch bad guys. It was... kind of fun, even if he had to hide his wings out in public so no one saw. He didn't mind.

A few weeks passed and Elizabeth took Niel with her one day to a small store to look for more clothes of his own. He'd grown quite fond of wearing suits like Peter, so when they ran into an older woman with more than a few on hand, they jumped on it.

Elizabeth spoke with the lady, June, while Niel inspected the clothes contentedly. He startled when something was placed on his head and he blinked, freezing in place while Elizabeth laughed at his reaction.

"It's just a hat, Niel. You look very handsome."

Niel rolled his eyes up, brows raised, though all he could see of the hat was a line of black, so he reached up curiously to remove it, bringing it down to tilt his head at it. He'd never understood hats, and this one looked different than the ones he'd seen before. He looked at it for a moment longer, then placed it back on his head, glancing over at Elizabeth, as if asking her approval.

She grinned brightly, so Neal grinned as well.

Maybe being human wasn't so bad, he thought.

-)()(-

It had been at least a year now. Niel had grown accustomed to life and he'd even moved into his own place so as not to intrude on the Burkes any more than necessary. He continued to help Peter, though, as he was doing now. Except this time things had gone a little differently.

Niel stared in shock as Peter fell, a deafening sound making him flinch. Gunshot. He'd heard a few of those by now, but this time Peter was the one on the receiving end of it.

Niel shouted his friend's name, receiving only a weak groan in reply. Blood blossomed from the agent's shoulder and Niel's eyes narrowed as he turned back to face the men that stood close by, surrounding them on all sides. He let his fierce gaze travel over each of them, then bared his teeth in a growl. "You shouldn't have done that."

He let his wings show, unfurling from his back with a rush of wind that forced the men to step back. His eyes flashed with fury and he enjoyed the look of pure terror on their faces. His voice resonated loudly across the area as he commanded, "Weapons down!" the way he'd heard Peter say so many times before.

They obeyed him, most shaking in fear.

By the time Peter became aware of what was going on again, Niel had all five men cowering in a corner, their guns at Niel's feet while he spoke with Agent Jones, wings hidden once more. Diana was beside Peter, along with the med team, but Peter looked past them all and caught Niel's eye.

Niel winked at him, and Peter returned the gesture. He reminded himself to thank his angel later.


	18. Father

Peter watched Neal take a call at his desk down below, smiling as he greeted whoever it was. Probably not Mozzie then. If it were Mozzie he'd look much more suspicious.

Peter glanced back at what he'd been doing on his computer, typed out a few things, and when he looked up again, Neal was gone, his chair still moving from when he'd gotten up like some cliché movie scene. Peter frowned thoughtfully. Maybe it had been Mozzie after all and they were plotting something sinister again. Of course, that was the first explanation that came to mind.

After a few minutes too long, Peter decided to investigate. He checked with Jones, asking if he'd seen where Caffrey went and the other agent pointed him to the bathrooms.

Not so suspicious, but with Neal, you never knew. Peter walked in and spotted Neal right away, bent over the sink with his head bowed, eyes closed and looking... very un-Caffrey-like.

"Neal?" Peter spoke, and Neal jolted upright, blinking into the mirror at Peter, who was caught off guard by the look of shell shock on his friend's face. He couldn't tell if Neal was an inch from crying or laughing.

"Peter," Neal said, "Um, now's not really a good time. Actually, I was gonna ask you, can I go home? I'm not feeling well."

Peter looked at him closely. He did look pale. "Yeah, sure," he answered, then questioned, "Who was that on the phone?"

"Just Sarah," Neal replied, not giving any further detail. He brushed past Peter with a small smile and Peter let him go, still a bit suspicious. He'd check in on Neal later, though.

-)()(-

When Neal got home, the first thing he did was fall head first into his bed, clutch a pillow to his face and stay there for what felt like a long time, thoughts racing and heart hammering.

When his phone rang, he flinched, but quickly answered, holding it to his ear. "Yeah?"

"Me again," Sarah said. "You okay?"

Neal sighed heavily. "Define 'okay'. Now I know I already asked, but are you absolutely sure?"

"One hundred percent," she replied. He could tell she was just as shocked about the whole thing as he was. Neither of them had meant for this to happen.

Neal rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. "How did this even happen? We... We used protection, didn't we? Yeah, we did. I'm not that stupid."

"Well, those things can... fail," Sarah said.

They fell into silence for a moment, not knowing what to say. Then Sarah breathed a calming breath and said, "We'll work this out."

"Yeah," Neal said quietly. "Yeah..."

He groaned suddenly, bringing a hand up to his eyes. "What am I gonna tell Peter?"

-)()(-

When Peter got to June's place later, he found Neal sitting out on the balcony with a mug of untouched coffee, staring at the table with an oddly blank expression. When he noticed Peter there, however, he glanced up and beckoned his friend over. Peter was puzzled not to see the usual welcoming smile.

"Feeling better?" he asked.

Neal took a deep breath. "Actually, there's something I need to tell you... And I need you to not get mad at me."

Peter instantly didn't like this at all. "What did you do?" he demanded, his mind running through all sorts of possible scams and illegal doings.

Neal laughed and he actually sounded quite nervous. "Uh, not whatever you're thinking, I guarantee. But, uh, okay, so Sarah called earlier. I told you that."

"Yes," Peter prompted, "Go on."

"She told me..." Here, Neal looked up at the sky as if asking some higher power to give him strength for what was about to come out of his mouth. "She's pregnant."

Peter blinked, mouth gaping shock. "She's— Wh— Is it...?"

Neal nodded. "Yeah, as far as we can tell. It's... It's mine..." As soon as he spoke the words, he lost his composure, bringing a hand up to his mouth and making a noise that could have been a laugh or a sob. Peter couldn't quite tell. His mouth was grinning, but his eyes were full of tears.

Peter honestly had no idea what to say except, "Congratulations."

-)()(-

Peter had seen Neal at gunpoint, and he managed to hold it together then. He'd seen Neal in many a tight situation where he could have been killed and he'd kept that charming smile ready to go the whole time.

Now, he got to see Neal completely and totally flustered and it would have been camera worthy if not for the fact that Sarah had gone into labor and Neal was trying to figure out the fastest way to the hospital without breaking any laws. Or maybe with no regard for the law whatsoever. Yeah, Peter was going to be driving him.

The whole way, Neal tapped his fingers quickly on his leg and his eyes were glued to the road, as if staring at the cars in front of them would clear a path.

"Relax," Peter told him. "You've got a few hours to wait anyway."

Neal promptly launched into a long mathematical and scientific rant about childbirth and Peter nodded once in a while to show that he was listening. He understood. If it were Elizabeth, he supposed he'd be the same way.

Once they reached the hospital, Neal set off determinedly for the mother's wing with Peter in tow. Peter nearly had to jog to keep up. "Neal, slow down. It's only been twenty minutes since she got here."

Neal blatantly ignored him.

When they located Sarah's room, Peter let Neal go in alone, deciding it best to wait out in the hall.

Not ten minutes passed before Neal came right back out, looking rather hurt, but also almost relieved. "She, uh, she's got that covered. I figured I should just wait out here with you."

Aka: He'd been kicked out. It was Sarah, so Peter wasn't surprised.

They sat there in silence for over five hours before Anna Georgina Caffrey-Ellis was born.

"Caffrey-Ellis sounds like a disease," Neal commented.

They agreed to use Neal's last name, which surprised Peter, but Sarah seemed happy with it, so he didn't say anything.

-)()(-

"Anna," Neal called, and Peter had to hold back a laugh as he walked up the short driveway to the house.

Neal was standing there on the porch in jeans and a dirty T-shirt, a far cry from the suits he usually wore when he wasn't practicing being a part-time father. In one hand he held a little pink princess backpack and in the other he held a leash, on the end of which was a fluffy white dog of some sort. A Pomeranian, it looked like.

When Neal caught sight of Peter, he shook his head. "Not a word out of you."

"I don't think I need to say anything," Peter smirked.

Anna came running around the house, dark pigtails flying. "Poopsie!" she squealed, going straight for the dog to smother it with her two-year-old version of affection.

"She named it," Neal said. "Don't look at me like that."

"You let your daughter name her first pet Poopsie?" Peter snorted, trying not to laugh again.

"She insisted and Sarah thought it was cute." Neal bent down to Anna's level, speaking to her in his daddy voice that had recently manifested. "Anna, sweetie, remember we said we have to go to school today, right?"

She pouted, hazel eyes round as saucers. "Why can't I go with you to work?"

Neal scooped her into his free arm, holding her against his hip after shifting the leash to his other hand. "Because you need to get really smart so you can become a princess."

Peter watched with a big smile on his face. "Just came by to see if you had everything handled. I see you do."

"Tell Sarah she needs to send a stealthier spy next time," Neal huffed. "Trust me, I got this down pat."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, the backpack slipped from his grasp, dropping to the sidewalk, and the dog yelped, jerking against its leash and nearly pulling Neal off balance.

Peter smiled pleasantly. "Oh, there's no doubt in my mind. You're the picture of fatherhood."


	19. Android

Peter glanced up at the young man who stood in the doorway of his office. Must have been a new agent or something. "Yeah," he said in way of greeting.

"You're Peter?" the man asked.

"That's me."

The man smiled, coming fully into the room and offering his hand. "Hughes sent me."

As soon as Peter shook that hand, he knew exactly what this was and he fought the urge to take out his frustration on the other. "He did, did he? Excuse me for just one second."

"Sure, I can wait."

Hughes glanced up when Peter barged in. "Don't look at me like that, Burke, you need a partner."

"I told you I'd pick one myself. I don't need one of those... things."

"Yeah, you told me that," Hughes said. "Two weeks ago. I'm assigning Neal to you because it didn't look like you were very interested in taking the initiative. One week. If you really don't like him, come talk to me and we'll see about getting you a real partner."

Peter wanted to argue, but Hughes wasn't having it, so he headed back to the office where the android was still waiting. "Alright, here's how this is gonna go. I'm the boss. You do what I tell you and don't ask questions, understand?"

Neal nodded. "You're the boss. Got it." He seemed almost human the way he said it, and Peter reminded himself that it didn't have feelings. There was no need to coddle it. At least that was one good thing.

-)()(-

The week went by slowly. Neal worked surprisingly well with Peter, doing what he was told and Peter eventually stopped referring to him as an "it".

Neal had personality, despite being made of metal and wire and whatever they used to make it look like he was an actual person. He was witty. He smiled a lot more than Peter had seen other androids do, and he genuinely seemed to have a passion for what he was built for.

Over the next few days, Peter grew rather fond of him. He even brought Neal home to show Elizabeth, who immediately fell in love with Peter's new partner. She seemed to regard him as another human being, a part of the family even. It was her who Peter swore made Neal act like one.

Some androids developed human traits over time, and it was the ones that learned baf qualities that had to be shut down. So far, Neal didn't seem to be one of those. The only thing Peter noticed was that he learned to love hats somewhere. He wasn't sure who could have taught him that. But Neal insisted on wearing a fedora, and Peter didn't see the harm in it.

Besides, sometimes even he forgot Neal was a robot.

-)()(-

Peter was forced to run, cursing under his breath as his cover fell to pieces and he was left with an angry mob boss on his hands. So much for that operation.

But then he realized Neal was no longer beside him and he skidded to a halt, glancing back up the stairs to see that no one had come after him. Neal was alone in there with them. He could still hear gunfire.

"Dammit, Neal!" he hissed. He hadn't been able to bring his gun for this one, so there really wasn't much he could do but hope for the best.

He flinched when the door burst open and one man fell through with a yelp. He landed on the floor at the top of the stairs and didn't move.

Peter tensed, waiting, and when someone else stepped into view, he was ready to run again, but it was just Neal. The sight of him made Peter cringe.

One arm was torn open, revealing the inner workings of the android, and black liquid dripped onto the floor from there as well as his face where there was a similar gash. Bullet holes peppered his chest.

Neal spotted Peter, looking surprised. "It's-s okay. I got-got them a-ll." His speech was messed up too.

"You didn't kill them."

"No."

Peter sighed in relief. "Okay. Good. Good job, Neal. Now come on, the team's on their way I'm sure. Let's get you patched up."

-)()(-

Neal looked good in a suit, Peter decided. He looked more human somehow, and it matched the personality he'd acquired for himself. Another thing he'd acquired was a nasty habit of doing bad things for the right reasons. He thought he was helping, but he was only getting himself into trouble.

Like now, for example.

"Neal, don't you—!"

Neal merely gave him a not-so-apologetic shrug, and as he pulled down a lever by the control panel, the place went dark.

Peter would deal with his troublesome partner later. At the moment, much as he hated to admit it, the blackout was just what he'd needed. It certainly made his job a lot easier as he only had to walk across the room to where another android stood, its body now shut down. He belonged to the man they were after, and getting him was likely to solve the whole case. Good thinking on Neal's part, but now Peter had two dead androids on his hands, one of which he was going to be very angry with when he was revived.

As expected, the case was blown wide open, and Peter was there when Neal opened his eyes again.

"So?"

"So, what?"

"Did you get him?"

"Yes."

Neal grinned, but before he could say 'I told you so' Peter stopped him.

"No, don't start. What you did was reckless and stupid and it won't happen again, do you understand?"

Neal nodded. "I understand." But the pleased look in his eye didn't go anywhere.

-)()(-

It had been so many years since Peter had last seen Neal. They'd come up with newer models and every agent was supposed to upgrade to one of those. Peter had refused for as long as he could get away with it, but in the end, they won.

Neal was the last android to go, and Peter hadn't even gotten to say goodbye.

Now, he walked along behind an old, old man who was said to have been collecting some of the older androids. Peter had been to several other places like this with no luck, but he hadn't given up yet.

And then there he was.

Neal.

Peter grinned broadly, walking right up to him, though it was obvious he was dead at the moment, probably had been ever since they took him away.

"Can you turn him on?" Peter asked hopefully.

"It's an old one," the man said. "It's probably in need of some parts, but we can give it a shot."

At first, nothing happened and Peter's shoulders slumped a bit. But then Neal's eyes opened slowly and he blinked, his gaze settling on Peter. For a moment, they stared at each other, then Neal grinned.

"Peter." The name was rough and glitchy sounding, but the voice was undoubtedly the same. It was Neal.

"Welcome back, partner."


	20. Altered Parentage

Peter had been after Neal Caffrey long enough to think he knew everything about him. Well, almost everything. For all he knew, Neal Caffrey was just another alias, but he had no way of knowing. That was why, after just missing the con yet again, he was disappointed and frustrated. Now there was no telling where he'd gone.

"Hey, boss!" Diana called, "You should come see this."

It was blood, just a few drops, but Peter blinked in surprise. "Where did that come from? We didn't shoot."

"Maybe he was already hurt," Jones suggested. "Should we run it through the system?"

"Yeah, good idea," Peter said. "Maybe this will tell us more about who Caffrey really is." In the meantime, however, he wanted to have a look around the area. If Caffrey was injured, he might not have gotten far. Jones and the rest of the team headed back to the bureau with the blood sample, but Diana stayed behind, insisting on helping Peter look.

For twenty minutes, they came up with squat, but then Peter happened to spot a smear of red outside on the metal railing of the steps leading out into the alley behind the building. Caffrey should have been long gone by then, though, so Peter was honestly stunned to find him sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest on the other side of a dumpster, blood staining his right arm.

Neal glanced up, not at all surprised to see Peter, like he'd been waiting for him. "You took your time."

Peter stared down at him. "What happened? Forget how to run?"

Neal shook his head. He looked so much younger than everyone had pegged him. "Nah... It's just not fun anymore."

That made Peter pause. Neal loved the chase. He loved teasing the FBI and leaving little clues for Peter to find. He made it into a game that Peter had to admit he enjoyed as well. "Is this because you got hurt or are you really giving up now?"

Neal shrugged. "Pick one." He got to his feet, one hand clutching his arm tightly. "Let's go."

Peter looked at him closely for another moment. And then the chase came to an end.

-)()(-

Neal was only sixteen. He couldn't be sent off to a maximum security prison, so he went to a juvenile detention center. Peter knew he was supposed to feel proud of himself for catching another criminal, but to be honest, he hadn't thought that Neal was so young. In fact, when he'd first gotten a hold of the case file, he'd been certain that James Bonds was at least thirty. His forgeries were masterpieces and his style was genius, too genius for a kid.

"Peter?" Jones interrupted his thoughts and Peter glanced up. "Hughes wants to talk to you."

Peter sighed. That was never good. But he didn't drag his feet, walking to his boss' office. He wasn't sure what this could be about.

"Have a seat," Hughes said after Peter shut the door behind him.

"What going on?"

"The lab results came back on Neal Caffrey's blood test and there's something you need to know about it."

Peter frowned at that. "Is there something wrong with him?" Wouldn't that just be the poor kid's luck...

"No, nothing like that," Hughes assured him. "The results came back with a relative match to a file we already have on hand."

Peter blinked in surprise. He hadn't heard anything about Neal having a family, so he was eager to hear this one.

Hughes looked at him carefully as he said, "You're his father, Peter."

The words made no sense and Peter laughed. "That's impossible." But Hughes wasn't laughing and it all suddenly clicked. Peter felt his face pale.

-)()(-

Neal didn't really mind the place they'd stuck him in. It was better than living off the streets like he had been, and if he kept to himself, no one bothered him. He didn't fit here, though, that was obvious. Most of the other kids were mean and angry. He tried to avoid them all.

When Peter came to visit, he wasn't surprised. He expected the agent to come gloating. But when Peter told him about a deal he could make to get him out, he was shocked.

"Why would you do that for me?"

What followed was a very long discussion during which Peter did nearly all of the talking. Neal listened. And as he listened, he thought about what he was hearing and ran it through what he knew to be true.

Fact: Sixteen years ago, his mother had been dating a man. She had never told Neal his name.

Fact: Sixteen years ago, something had happened between the two and they'd split.

Fact: Neal's mom had found out she was pregnant, but had never tried to tell that man.

Peter Burke could very well be his father. There was one way to be sure.

"If you knew my mom, what was her name?"

"Christina," Peter said without hesitation.

Neal had nothing to say to that. He took Peter's deal.

-)()(-

Elizabeth was a wonderful human being, Neal decided. Peter had told her about the situation and she had been surprised, but not angry, as Neal had sort of expected.

He and Peter sort of avoided each other, neither really knowing how to approach the other anymore. Before, during the chase, it had been easy. It had been uncomplicated, just an agent and a con running in circles trying to outsmart each other.

As Neal adjusted to his new life with the Burkes, he slowly began to trust Peter more and more. Elizabeth already felt like his mom, so there was no trouble there, but it was difficult to replace the man he knew for so many years as Special Agent Peter Burke with just "Dad".

Peter didn't pressure him.

-)()(-

The first time Neal actually called him dad, Peter didn't make a big deal out of it.

It was late. He was sitting at the table with another case file spread out before him. He was stuck on this one, and it had been frustrating him all day.

When Neal suddenly sat down beside him, Peter glanced over, about to berate him for not being in bed yet, but one look at Neal's face made the words die on his lips.

"Hey, what's up?"

Neal didn't meet his eyes, playing with his hands as he mumbled something Peer couldn't catch.

"What was that?"

"I said can I go to the movies tomorrow night?"

Peter looked at him closely. "With who?"

"Nobody," Neal mumbled again, but the red in his cheeks said otherwise and Peter smirked.

"With a girl, huh? Have I met this girl?"

Neal shook his head.

"What's her name?"

"Kate."

Peter hummed, pretending to consider for a long moment even if he already knew what his answer was going to be. "As long as you don't take any side trips to the MoMA."

Neal grinned broadly. "Promise!" He hugged Peter tightly and Peter heard a hasty "Thanks, dad!" before the kid darted off to his room again.

Peter smiled. Dad. He could get used to that.


	21. Daemon

They say that near-death experiences stick with you for the rest of your life. Peter hadn't thought this was what they meant.

The creature looked like all those cartoon depictions of the devil, with his pointed tail, horns, and devious grin. He just seemed to... appear after Peter got home from the hospital and no matter how much he tried to ignore it, there it stayed. It watched him with bright blue eyes almost curiously, and it seemed amused by his confusion.

The first time he actually spoke to it, he was on his way home from the office after his first day back and he finally couldn't take it anymore. "Alright, I must be going crazy. I hit my head harder than I thought because you're not supposed to be there," he snapped, pointing sternly at where it sat casually in the passenger seat of his car.

Its grinned returned. "I'm right where I've always been. But yes. You hit your head pretty hard. You're not supposed to see me."

Peter gave it a puzzled look. "What are you then, a demon? That's what you look like to me."

"Daemon."

"What?"

"Not demon. Daemon. With an A-E."

"How'd you know how I was spelling it?"

"Your tone."

The daemon tilted his head, thinking. "That's actually the first time I've saved your life. We try not to do that, but you humans are just so... Well, you're human."

"Wait, back up," Peter frowned. "You saved my life? Why?"

"Mm. Not sure," the daemon replied. "I just did. Maybe because I like you and I'm not entirely sure what would happen to me if you were gone. Maybe I'd die too."

All of this only served to confuse Peter further. "Why are you here? What are you supposed to do?"

The creature shrugged, brows raised. "You tell me. I've been here as long as you have and I still haven't figured it out. All I know is I'm yours and you're mine and that's that."

Peter drove in silence for a while, thinking this new information over and over until his head spun.

"Don't think you're special," the daemon spoke up again. "Everyone on this earth has someone like me following them around. They just don't know it. Aside from the few like you, anyway."

Peter frowned glancing over at his new companion. "What are you called? Do you have a name?"

"Ah, you wouldn't be able to pronounce it."

"Try me."

The daemon spat out a very long, very complicated name that sounded more like an entire ancient alphabet, and Peter blinked. "Yeah you're right, I can't pronounce that." The beginning part sounded easy, though. "How about I just call you Neal?"

Neal smiled. "Sounds good to me."

Neal became his shadow. Well, according to Neal, he always had been, but now Peter could see the creature following him around like a loyal dog of sorts. He could always spot that tail out of the corner of his eye, lashing back and forth with mischief or twitching in irritation.

Neal informed him that, yes, of course Elizabeth had a daemon as well.

"She's very pretty," he grinned, then glanced to his right. "But shy. She hasn't really spoken to me."

"At all?" Peter questioned.

Neal shook his head. "Our kind aren't what you'd call social. We care only for our human ties. To be honest, my sole purpose revolves around you, so there's not much else that interests me." He paused with a smile. "I like your dog, though. Smart, that one. Sometimes I think he sees me."

Peter slowly became accustomed to seeing Neal everywhere, and he caught himself multiple times nearly addressing the daemon in front of others. He had to be careful about that. But otherwise, life went on.

-)()(-

Peter knew this day was coming. The day when his life would come to an end. He'd always expected something like this, lying on the floor somewhere, a casualty of his duty as an agent. He knew it was probably too late. Nobody was coming and he could feel the poison spread through his body from whatever had been in the drink offered to him.

Neal was beside him as always, but now he was wild-eyed, demanding that Peter stay with him.

Peter shook his head weakly. "I... 'm s-sorry, Neal..."

His daemon looked at him, quickly shaking his head. "No, no, no, please! Don't!"

Peter felt his lids grow heavy and as they began to slip shut, he saw Neal tilt his head back and howl, pain and rage in the haunting sound. Overhead, lights shattered and Peter's heart broke to hear it, but already, the world was fading out around him...

The next thing he knew, he was lying on a gurney, paramedics on either side. Diana and Jones were there as well, eyes wide with worry, but also relief.

Peter glanced around, but for the first time in years, Neal was nowhere to be seen. Peter tried to sit up, but one of the paramedics pushed him back down, telling him to stay still.

And then a familiar voice spoke. "I'm here. Relax, Peter, I'm right here with you."

Peter did relax, still looking around, but though he could hear his daemon clearly, he was still nowhere to be seen. "Where are you?" he rasped.

One of the paramedics asked him what he was talking about as he was loaded into an ambulance, but Peter ignored him, listening for Neal's answer.

"With you," came the reply, but it sounded off.

"What are you hiding, Neal?"

"Rest." And suddenly, Peter's eyes felt heavy again, and he couldn't fight against the pull of sleep.

-)()(-

Neal still watched his human companion, but things had changed. In a moment of desperation, he'd sacrificed himself to buy Peter those precious few minutes. He was no longer a being, but a presence, residing in Peter himself.

They still spoke, but Neal could no longer see Peter and Peter could no longer see him. He felt what Peter felt, saw what Peter saw. Sometimes he was even aware of the thoughts in Peter's head.

And sometimes, ever so briefly, Peter would catch a glimpse of something in the mirror. The flash of a grin or the brief flicker of that tail. It was always gone before he could be sure.


	22. Dragon

Neal drew his huge wings in, letting himself transform as he fell the last few meters to the ground. By the time he hit, his taloned feet and turned into hands that stung when they scraped against the rocks and dirt beneath him. His grey scales had seemed to melt into smooth skin, but he had little time to get used to the change.

Fire came down from above and he ducked and rolled out of the way just in time. Then he was on his feet, sprinting off through the trees with wide, golden eyes. Behind, he could hear his adversary shriek in fury and powerful wings beat the air.

Neal dashed under the cover of the thick trees, heartbeat thudding in his chest. He thought about stopping, finding a place to hide, and waiting until the other dragon gave up, but he doubted it would be that simple, so he ran as fast as his human legs could carry him.

Maybe it had been a bad idea to choose this form, but before he could even think about turning back, he was bounding out of the undergrowth and into a wide road that wound through the forest. Roads like these were rarely used, as most humans tended to stay far away from this side of the realm. However, as Neal leaped out into the middle of the smooth, black pavement, he was startled to see a pair of headlights bearing down on him and his eyes widened further, the scales along his back bristling in shock.

He had maybe half a second to react, so there really wasn't much he could do. He knew he'd be alright, but this wasn't going to be pleasant...

He felt himself fly back, rolling across the road with a grunt, and when his body came to a jarring halt on his back, he grimaced.

A car door slammed and running footsteps approached. Neal sat up slowly, waving the human off. "I'm alright," he gasped. "Go. Just go before—"

He sensed it coming, and he quickly shoved the human back, raising his eyes to the sky where the other dragon dove down towards him, claws outstretched. Neal snarled in defiance, and leaped up toward it, wings unfurling as he returned to his much bigger, much more dangerous form.

He met the other halfway, grey and green tangling together as they crashed into the trees along the side of the road. Neal's talons scrabbled at the other's belly while trying to avoid the sharp teeth snapping for his neck.

Oddly enough, brawls like these were fairly common. Usually it was territory or a matter of hoards. This one was the latter, but Neal had no intention of giving up what he'd... borrowed without permission...

The fight lasted a mere ten minutes and Neal got to his feet as the other dragon took off, still looking pissed.

Neal shook himself thoroughly, snorting, and it was then that he noticed the man still standing there, apparently not even having the sense to have gone back to his car.

Neal tilted his head and once again, he shrank down. Most humans preferred interacting with dragons this way, so he stood on two legs, running a hand through his hair to smooth it down.

"Sorry," he called. "Didn't mean to settle that in front of you."

"It's alright," the man called, and Neal was puzzled by his... indifference to being here, around his kind.

"Come here often?"

The human chuckled. "More often than you'd think. What's your name, dragon?"

"Neal," he replied. "And yours?"

"Peter."

They stood, regarding each other for a moment before Peter spoke up again. "You're injured."

Neal blinked, looking down at himself. "Well, yeah. That's kind of what happens."

He knew humans were odd about things like that.

"Why don't you come home with me and I'll get those cuts looked at?" Peter offered, surprising Neal even more, but who was he to argue?

He smiled a bit. "Sure. As long as you don't mind."

"Not at all. Hop in."

Neal looked at the car doubtfully, but then figured it would be rude to fly by himself, so he slid into the seat up front, thinking about how much he hated the confined space, but this wasn't his first time in a car and it certainly wouldn't be the last, so he bit his tongue.

Peter, as it turned out, was a liason between the human race and realm, which explained his lack of fear. Neal rather liked him, even after just a twenty-five minute drive.

He wondered, not for the first time, if he really would rather live with the humans in their city. They were certainly much less inclined to try and kill each other, and he wouldn't be the first dragon or other creature to make such a decision.

He'd think about it. But so far, Peter was doing a good job of convincing him.

It didn't take much more after he met Elizabeth, who happened to be a fae, or fairy as the humans called them. She too had chosen to live in the city and she was able to chase away any doubt Neal may have had.

She explained some of the rules, and about how life worked here. Neal might have altered some of those rules if he were in charge. Some of them were just silly. But he could agree that the humans lived a much calmer and safer life than the dragons.

Neal only returned to the realm once after that, and it was only to retrieve his hoard and bring it to his new home at a place owned by an old woman named June. Neal rather liked her, so he counted her as part of his hoard, which had also extended to Peter and Elizabeth, as well as an odd little man called Mozzie who considered himself an expert on all things of the realm now that he had a dragon for a friend.

Neal hardly changed from his human form, though, and even then, it was usually only to protect himself, grey scales appearing briefly over his skin so that a bullet ricocheted, or a knife slid off him with no harm done. Those sort of things happened apparently when you began helping the FBI.

Still, he liked his new lifestyle. He wouldn't trade it for anything.


	23. Wild West

(Just so you guys know, I haven't been able to reply to your reviews because my phone for some reason has been super glitchy but I do read them, so just know that I'm not ignoring you. Hopefully, that'll go away soon. For now, thank you so much for all your wonderful feedback and ideas. I'm taking them all into consideration :)

Neal walked casually over to where a black horse was tied to the hitching post outside, a man leaning there as well.

"Let's go."

Matthew Keller grinned. "You're quick, Caffrey. I knew I liked you."

Neal glanced around before shoving a small black pouch into the saddle bag, then he put his foot in the stirrup, swinging onto the horse's back. Keller followed suit with his dark bay and they exchanged a smirk just before they heard a voice call out, "Caffrey!"

Neal snapped his gaze to the man racing toward them, and more importantly, the shiny golden star pinned to his vest. Crap.

"Go! Go!" He dug in his heels and the horse took off like a bullet, Keller doing the same. For a moment, they rode side by side, then Keller shouted, "We gotta lose him! Meet back at Kate's!" With that, he broke off, steering his horse in a different direction.

Neal risked a glance behind, uneasy to see another horse in pursuit. 'Go after the other guy,' Neal thought desperately. No such luck. The sheriff remained on his tail, ignoring Keller's retreat.

'There goes that...'

They were a half mile outside town now and Neal guided his horse to the right to avoid the path leading down into the canyon. However, he was surprised to find the sheriff right there, coming up on that side. Neal's horse balked, and, unable to turn, thundered down into the canyon. Neal spat a curse under his breath. He was trapped down here, nowhere to go but forward. The sheriff had practically herded him down here like one would a pack of mustangs waiting to be caught.

Still, maybe there was a way out at the end. At least, Neal had to hope so. Those hopes fell short, however, when he came in sight of the high rock wall that marked the end of his flight. The black horse skidded to a halt, nearly pitching Neal over its ears, and of course, the sheriff was there to reach over and grab the animal's reins.

Neal looked at the other man, panting. "I don't suppose you'd let this one slide..."

"Not a chance, Caffrey." And Neal was puzzled to see the other man smiling at him.

-)()(-

Neal once more dug in his heels, shouting, "Hyah!" His horse leaped forward with a small buck, and raced off at top speed.

Not far behind, Neal could see Sheriff Peter Burke, but this time, it wasn't Neal he was chasing. Instead, they rode as a team and Neal set his sights on the familiar dark bay horse ahead of them.

He knew all of Keller's tricks, so it wasn't long before he was holding the bay horse's reins along with his own while Burke kept his gun trained on Keller.

"Another win for Caffrey and Burke," Neal grinned.

"It's Burke and Caffrey," Peter corrected. "I'm in charge, ergo, my name comes first. Remember, I can still stick you back in jail."

Neal knew the threat wasn't serious, though. It had been used too many times for that.

-)()(-

Neal had never been a gun person, never been a violent person in general. He just preferred the challenge of doing things the hard way with no threats and no bloodshed.

But there was always an exception to every rule. Peter wasn't here right now, so that left Diana Berrigan in charge.

'Figures,' Neal thought to himself as he loaded his pistol, 'The day Peter has to ride out to the next town over would be the day Keller breaks out of jail with the help of some of his nastier friends.'

Neal didn't know if the man had meant to start a firefight or if things had just spiraled out of control, but he was betting on the latter. With Keller, things usually went sideways, though the man had never had any problem with taking extra lives.

"I'm out!" Diana growled, ducking back behind the wall of the saloon where they'd been pinned down. Several other townspeople were helping, of course, so that was relief. Still, without, Burke, they were cutting it close.

The sound gunfire continued and Neal handed the woman one of his pistols before focusing back on the fight. After that, it was a matter of minutes before everything quieted down and Neal peered around the corner warily.

A couple of Keller's men lay in the middle of the main road, along with a few others, but nearly everyone had made it through. Neal exchanged a glance with Diana, who handed him his pistol back wordlessly. She'd never really liked that Peter had begun working with a criminal, but somehow Neal knew they were square now. And, hey, they got to throw Keller back in jail.

When Peter returned, he found Neal sitting at the desk in his office, feet up on the surface and head tilted back as he stared at the ceiling.

"What are you doing?"

Neal startled, bringing his feet down at once and lifting his head to look at Peter in surprise. "You're back!"

"Yes, clearly. Get off my chair."

Neal did so, but there was that mischevious glint in his eye that told Peter there was something he was missing.

"Care to tell me what you've been up to? I thought Diana would have stuck you back in that cell within the first hour."

"Oh, me?" Neal smirked. "Nothing much. Diana and I have been getting along just fine. A prisoner escape and a gunfight will do that, I suppose."

"A what and a what?!"

Neal kept that smirk on his face as he strolled out of the room, calling back cheekily, "Ask Diana."

Peter made a mental note to not leave Neal Caffrey behind the next time he left.


	24. Immortal

About three. That was the number of times Neal Caffrey had died. The first two had been on accident. He'd had the usual child-falls-out-of-a-tree experience when he was four, and that had gone about as worse as it could go. His mom hadn't noticed his death, as it took her a few minutes to see him lying in the yard, so by the time she made it to his side, his broken neck had healed itself and Neal found himself crying in her arms.

The second time hadn't been his fault either. He'd just started out on his own and he was hitchhiking to New York. It was dark and the road he walked was empty, at least until the drunk driver came roaring around the corner. Neal hadn't been able to jump clear in time and the car had hit him, sending him flying back to land on the side of the road. That had been the worst one because he hadn't died right away. Instead, he heard the car stop for maybe five seconds, then roar off once more. No one had seen that one either, so by morning, he had hitched another ride and was in New York City.

Lastly, this one probably his fault in some way, he'd been shot. Job gone wrong, as they sometimes tended to do. Mozzie had been with him then, and he'd seen it all in close proximity. When Neal woke up with dried blood on his temple and a pounding headache, Mozzie had effectively freaked out and left for a few days, only to slink back and demand answers, which Neal gave.

That made Mozzie the only one who knew, and Neal wanted to keep it that way.

-)()(-

"Croquet?" Peter guessed, and it was obvious he was becoming frustrated

"Nope," Neal replied, carrying his coffee as they walked together. "I've played that too."

"Football."

"Played that in high school."

"No," Peter snorted. "You did not."

"Did too," Neal shot back, "It just wasn't during school. They let me in on some of their practices."

Peter sighed. "Alright. I give in. What was it?"

Neal smirked, taking a long sip of his coffee to keep his friend in suspense that much longer. He could see Peter looking at him intensely, but drew out his silence as they began to cross the street together.

"Neal," Peter started to say, about to demand an answer out of him, but Neal was no longer paying attention. To the right, he could see a truck that had ran the light and was now about two seconds from hitting Peter.

He acted without hardly thinking, dropping his coffee so he could use both hands to give the agent a shove. He watched as Peter fell backwards and then, WHAM

His vision went white for what must have only been a second or two because when he could see again, he was still moving, still skidding across the pavement. His hands were holding onto something, but he had little time to think about that. Pain hit him just as hard, and when he felt himself stop, he could only stare up at the blue sky, mouth parted in shock as his lungs locked up and the pain rolled through him in waves.

He didn't try to breathe, strangely calm as he thought, 'You got the breath knocked out of you, that's all. Just relax and it'll come back. Don't worry, you're fine.'

"Neal?! Neal! Oh god..."

Peter was there, his face leaning over him and Neal couldn't really respond, so he did his level best to give a reassuring nod. He was okay. He was fine.

"No!" Peter snapped to someone else, "Don't move it!"

Move what, Neal wondered. Him? He tried to look around, and that was easier than he thought it'd be.

There were people everywhere, all looking just as stunned at Peter. Some had their phones out. But the real surprise came when Neal lifted his head after managing a small, wheezing breath. He blinked at the front of the truck a few inches from his face. He was still gripping the bumper with both hands, so he let go, puzzled. Where were his legs?

Underneath. Oh. He blinked at the amount of blood and the way his right leg was mangled beyond recognition. He could see bloodstained bone. That wasn't good.

Then Peter was forcing his head back down and there were voices everywhere and it was still so hard to breathe and Neal felt his eyelids flutter, exhaustion pulling at them.

Peter was saying no again, except this time it was directed at him, but Neal wasn't sure what he was saying no for.

"Pet'r..." he rasped, though he couldn't tell if anyone would recognize what he was trying to say. "P...Pet'r... issokay..."

"No," Peter was saying again, and he also said more but Neal couldn't catch it. He felt his whole body shudder, and then he couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't feel...

He woke with a strangled gasp, eyes wide as the pain returned, slamming back into him. Though this time, there was significantly less of it.

Peter was still there, but the truck was gone, backed up further down the street. Neal could see right away that Peter had been crying, but now he stared in both shock and relief.

"Neal!" he gasped.

"Peter," Neal said. At the same time, they both looked down at his legs. The pants were beyond saving, but beneath, there were two very unbroken limbs.

Neal was too exhausted to explain. How could he? It had been tough enough with Mozzie. He didn't think he could do it again, so instead, he let his hand find Peter's shoulder. "Help me up."

"Neal, you shouldn't—"

Neal ignored him, hauling himself to his feet, albeit a little unsteadily. The pain in his ribs was slowly lifting as well, so he stayed upright with no problem, though Peter kept an arm around him securely.

Now to deal with the ambulance that had been called and explain to them why they were no longer needed.

-)()(-

"Neal..."

He'd known this was coming, and he'd been dreading it, but he didn't want to do this right now. He had a headache and all he wanted to do was sleep off the last remnants of agony.

But it was Peter, so after flopping down onto his oh so soft bed, he sighed and began with, "Dodgeball."

"...What?"

"I've never played Dodgeball."


	25. Soldier

Being drafted was like being told by your dad that you had to go play with your siblings so they didn't feel left out. Except in Neal's case, he didn't know his dad and he didn't have any siblings so he couldn't understand that line of thinking.

It was hard. He wasn't used to all this sweat and labor and being yelled at 24/7 by a big man with a hard attitude and way too much time on his hands. They'd shaved his head, given him new clothes, and slowly, they'd begun to take away the Neal Caffrey everyone knew. He was a soldier now. Soldiers were not delicate flowers who painted sunsets and gave lilies to beautiful women. No, soldiers were animals, trained for the fight and nothing but the fight.

He was good at running, right from the start, but he wasn't exactly the strongest person there. He certainly wasn't the weakest either, but it took some work to grow accustomed to the gruelling schedule.

They liked Neal because he could use guns. He told them he didn't like guns, and he asked if maybe he could be put on a med team or something so he didn't have to kill anyone. They told him to shove it. Medical was the highest sought after position for wimps like him. He should have asked earlier.

And then training ended and it was time for the real deal. Iraq, that's where they were being shipped off to, Neal heard. He sent a few quick letters, one to Moz, one to Sara, one to Ellen. He sent two to her, actually. He told her to give the other to his mom if anyone ever found her again.

He wondered if she was even still alive, and if she was, did she care? Did she care that her son was here in this place, about to get on a plane to fly across the ocean? He liked to think that she would be proud. He hoped someone was because he couldn't bring himself to be proud. He was too scared.

-)()(-

War was brutal. It was chaotic and terrifying, and no matter where you turned, death awaited you with open arms, ready to strike you down after one wrong move.

To someone like Neal, it was the worst thing to be a part of, but he didn't really have a choice in the matter, so he fought, and he did his best not to get killed. He didn't shoot his gun, but he carried it with him as he ran, avoiding enemy fire while his feet sank into the mud. It had been raining, and the sky was still dark with clouds.

All around, the air was filled with deafening noise. The sound of gunfire, explosions, screams from the soldiers on both sides. Those screams were chilling. Neal had never heard anyone make noise like that, and it would haunt his dreams, he knew, for years to come. If he survived, that is.

Dirt sprayed up to his left, and he leaped away from it instinctively, eyes wild as he tried to avoid the line of fire while also moving forward with the rest of the soldiers.

That was really all Neal remembered before waking up alone, cold, lying at the bottom of a trench among countless dead bodies. He tried not to look at them, at the gore and the blood. He whimpered breathlessly, struggling to free himself from them, and once he was standing, legs shaking, he pressed himself against the side of the trench, tears tracking through the dirt and blood on his face.

He stayed that way until someone else was suddenly there, dropping down into the trench beside him.

Neal flinched, throwing his arms in front of his face, but he recognized the uniform as one of his own.

"Hey," the man said, his voice loud in the silence. "Hey, what's your name?"

"Ca-Caffrey..." He swallowed and tried again. "Caffrey, sir. Neal."

"I'm Peter," the other soldier replied, and he placed a hand on Neal's shoulder. "It's okay, Neal. It's over. You're done."

Neal looked closely at Peter, the words not really making sense. It was over? He'd survived? At what cost?

Peter gave him a small smile, patting his shoulder gently, and Neal practically fell into him, face crumpling. Dignity be damned. He was alive. That was all he could think about.

-)()(-

"Neal."

Peter's voice startled him, and he spun around quickly, on alert.

Peter raised his hands. "Hey, it's just me."

Neal nodded, kicking himself for reacting in such a way. Those days were long behind him now. He didn't have to worry. "Yeah, I know. What's up?"

"You're coming over for dinner, right?"

"Of course," Neal replied with a smile. He'd become good friends with Peter over the last couple years, and he'd even moved to New York after the war. Peter and his wife had welcomed him as part of their family almost right away, which was both unbelievable and touching. Neal had never had what one would call a normal home life, so it was nice to finally experience it, if only secondhand.

"You don't have to come if you're not up for it this time," Peter said, and Neal smiled a bit.

"Is it that obvious?"

"No, but I know you. What's up?"

Neal shrugged, unable to help but look away as he replied, "Nothing. Just having some sleep issues again, that's all. I'm fine. I'll be there."

Thankfully, Peter didn't press. If anything, he encouraged the idea more, and when Neal got to the Burkes' place around five, he understood why.

"I've got the guest room made up for you," Elizabeth said while she put dinner on the table.

Neal glanced at Peter knowingly, but went along, secretly grateful for his friend's insight and understanding. "Thanks, El."

That night, as he crawled under the covers, he felt safe and warm, far away from the nightmares that had been plaguing him, like he'd left them behind in his own bed and now all the love, peace, and comfort of his new family was surrounding him, protecting him from any and all harm.

He'd be sure to thank Peter in the morning.


	26. Musician

He started with the piano when he was five. His mom had one sitting in the dining room, unused for years and years. He'd never heard anyone play it, so he carefully opened the lid, revealing the black and white keys beneath. At first, he just pressed them down in no particular order, smiling at the sound they made. However, even to his little ears, they sounded off and he asked his mother if she would teach him how to play.

She was still pretty much herself back then, so she agreed. "But first," she told him, "We'll need to have it tuned."

Neal (or Danny, as he was called back then) waited patiently for that, and when his mother sat him down on the bench for the first time and began to teach him, he was so excited, he could barely pay attention.

His mother taught him for a few months, but gradually, her interest seemed to fade and that was when Ellen stepped in. Ellen taught differently. She let Neal figure out almost everything by himself. Soon enough, he was playing full songs, his fingers dancing slowly across the keys as he hummed to himself. Ellen was very pleased, and she let him help make cookies when he finished his first song without messing up once.

His mom smiled and told him he did good, but even Neal could tell she was just going through the motions now. She didn't care about much these days.

He played piano all through his childhood, mastering songs even Ellen couldn't perform. She was proud enough for both herself and Neal's mom.

He stopped playing when he left at age eighteen. His world had been turned upside down and he couldn't even think about a piano. For a few years, his hands were used instead for painting, for picking locks, and for getting him into some big trouble.

There were no instruments in prison.

-)()(-

Mozzie was there when Neal walked into his little apartment at June's, and Neal called out a greeting to him, carrying something over to his bed.

Mozzie, being one of a curious nature, called back, "Whatcha got there?"

"Come see," Neal said, a smile evident in his voice.

Mozzie did indeed come see and his eyes widened at the beautiful instrument laid out on the bed. "Where did you get that?"

"Walker's," Neal replied. "It's nice, isn't it?"

Mozzie nodded, then frowned. "Why'd you steal a violin?"

Neal shot him an unimpressed look. "I didn't steal it. I paid for it."

"Why?" his friend asked again.

Neal shrugged. "I figured it was time I got myself a new hobby. Besides, June already has a piano downstairs. I wanted something new to learn."

"A violin is much different than a piano," Mozzie told him pointedly.

"I know. That's why I wanted to try it."

-)()(-

Peter paused halfway up the stairs, blinking in confusion. What on earth was Neal doing up there? Listening to Mozart? He shook his head. No, that probably meant Mozzie was there. He continued up to Neal's room and knocked on the door. "Neal?"

The music didn't stop, and he got no reply, so he opened the door and stepped in, glancing around before he spotted Neal with his back turned, standing over in the living area.

The music had been coming from him.

Peter stared, almost afraid to interrupt. He didn't know Neal played violin, and he liked to think he knew everything about the man. He remained where he was, silently watching Neal slide the bow over the strings effortlessly.

After a minute or two, he stopped, bringing the instrument away from his chin with a contented sigh.

"I didn't know you could play," Peter spoke up finally, nearly making Neal drop the bow in surprise. He whirled around, blinking. "Oh, sorry. I didn't realize you were here..."

Peter nodded to the violin. "You're pretty good. How long have you had that?"

"I didn't steal it," Neal said immediately, apparently interpreting that wrong.

"I wasn't saying that," Peter assured him, though you could bet he'd be verifying that. "So, how long?"

Neal shrugged sheepishly, scratching his head. "Uh, five hours?"

Peter looked at him in befuddlement. "And how long have you played violin?"

"Um... Five hours..."

Peter had to laugh, shaking his head. "I should have guessed. Come on, put that away, we've got work to do."

-)()(-

Peter stood off to the side, hands clasped behind his back. He watch as Neal, dressed in black like everyone else, walked up the front of the small group gathered there, a black case held loosely in his hands.

Peter wanted to go over there and just offer his presence in support, but he remained where he was. He knew Neal had to do this alone.

Neal opened the case and took out the violin he'd been taking good care of for the last year or so, and he took a deep calming breath before bringing it up to nestle under his chin. He paused for a moment, collecting himself before he began to play.

Peter didn't recognize the song, but it was slow and peaceful. Ellen would have liked it. The melody started off low with a melancholy feel to it, then lifted into the chorus, which seemed to replace the sadness with hope and passion.

The sound of the violin echoed across the large field, and Peter saw more than a few people shed some tears. He could tell Neal was trying not to do the same. He finished his song and let the instrument fall to his side.

Several people came up to him afterwards, shaking his hand or giving him a hug and a thank you for the lovely music. Neal couldn't stop his eyes from filling with tears then, but he still didn't let them fall.

After it was all over, Peter walked with his friend back towards the car. "That was beautiful. She would have loved that."

Neal smiled a bit and nodded.

Somewhere, they both knew Ellen Parker was smiling as well.


	27. YouTuber

Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, my name is DannyPan and welcome back! Now, a lot of you saw my last video and apparently it was really good and you guys told me to do more like that. For those of you who didn't know, I did How To Make Yakgwa, which is a Korean treat. So good.

So, by popular demand, I'm going to be doing something like that again, except today we're going to be making Pocky. This... is Pocky. Right here. It's a 'chocolate covered biscuit stick' as it says right on the box. I believe it's, yeah, it's from Thailand. I was told it was from Japan, though, so I'm probably getting my foreign snacks mixed up again.

Alright, let's see how this turns out.

Bear in mind... I have never done this before so there's probably going to be a lot of room for improvement.

I'm going to... eat these right now. While I make my own. Oo! Those are good.

Alright, what do we need first? I got this recipe from a friend of mine, actually, so if it turns out bad, I can blame him. Kidding, Moz... Kidding.

I'll put the recipe in the description for those of you who wanna take a crack at it.

First things first, oven. Let's preheat that to 300°. Aaaaaand... Sugar, butter, yada yada yada... Okay, I think I got everything for this.

I won't bore you with how long it takes me to mix this, so I'll go back and edit it, probably put some music in the background, I don't know. Sometimes I gotta remind myself to do that... Neal, edit this!

Okay, so that's all mixed. I added our flour, baking powder, and our salt to that so it looks really delicious now. Look at that.

Crap. Guys, I forgot to put the water in... That's okay. It's not too late for that. Actually... Okay, yeah, I wasn't supposed to do that yet anyway. Hehe.

Yes! Now we get to make the actual sticks out of this. More editing!

Oh look at that. I think this'll turn out okay this time. Mm. It tastes good too. Here, you want some? Oops... Got it on the camera there. I shouldn't do that...

Now we gotta bake these for about fifteen minutes, so I'm gonna put those in there. The oven is nice and hot. And I will be right back.

They're done! I melted the chocolate and now... Now comes the fun part. We get to dip these in the chocolate.

Mm. Gotta taste test it first of course. Remember the number one rule. Taste testing is a must. Especially when we're talking about chocolate.

This is getting all over... But that's what baking is all about, you gotta have a little fun. Messes can be cleaned up. See? I'm really gonna regret this later, hahaha!

Look at that. I just wanna eat it right now. But these are gonna have to cool off for a while, so I'm gonna stick those in the fridge for... a couple hours just to be safe.

And I'm back! Look, oh my gosh. They turned out so perfect.

So that is Pocky. Yes, I made, like two batches, and yes, I will eat them all. Kidding. I'm going to a friend's house tonight and these are coming with me.

Ah! I dropped one... Five second rule. Don't judge me.

Okay! That does it for this episode. Thank you all so much for watching, and happy baking, fellas!

-)()(-

Hello, ladies and gentlemen, my name is DannyPan and welcome back!

I'm gonna be doing something a little different this time. A lot of you have been asking some questions, which I will now be answering. I've seen a lot of YouTubers doing this, so, yeah. I wanted to try it myself. Let's get into this, shall we?

"What is your favorite recipe on your channel so far?"

That's like asking me to choose between my children! You can't ask me that! I actually had a lot of fun making my own that one time. I'm not sure what I ended up calling those... But, yeah. That.

"Your fucking voice is a gift from God."

What if I lean in close to the mic and speak really quietly... like this... How does that make you feel now?

"Wait, is your name Neal?"

It is and it isn't. Well, it is now. I grew up as Danny, but recently I changed my name to Neal. There's a whole big story behind that, but I'm not gonna get into it on here.

"Is Mozz your boyfriend?"

Now this I don't understand. I keep getting people who ask me that. No, Moz is not my boyfriend. And, to those of you wondering, yes. I am single.

Oh god, that's gonna get me in trouble...

"Where do I find your amazing recipes?!"

They are all in the descriptions of the videos I've done. I'm sure you can figure that out. I believe in you.

"Me and my mom watch ALL your videos! We love you so much!"

All of them? That's a lot, I hope you take breaks in between...

Alright, thank you all so much for your questions and comments. I do read them, by the way, even if I don't reply, so if you didn't make it into this video, maybe you'll catch the next one. Yeah, this was fun, I'd totally do another one of these.

But thank you all so much for watching. Happy baking, fellas!

-)()(-

Good morning, ladies and gentlemen! My name is DannyPan and welcome to...

My new apartment!

Look at this! Ah!

Sorry, but I am so excited. I've been wanting to get a new place for a while now. My other apartment was... horrible. That's why you never saw it in my videos. Hehe.

But look at all this! Agh... Now I'm dizzy.

Anyway, as you can see, it's not so much an apartment as it is a luxurious suite. It's actually part of this huge house and the lady, whom I met at the store, actually, she was kind enough to let me rent it out for like... $700 a month and for those of you in New York, that's cheap. So I get all of this for $700.

This is June. Say hi, June!

"Hello!"

Isn't she the sweetest? I love her.

Hi, Bugsy!

Anyway, so I'm excited, if you guys couldn't tell. This is just the best thing to ever happen to me.

And look at this suit. I got a whole closet full of these now. As if the fangirls weren't crazy enough...

That. Is my view. Of New York City. Holy hell.

Anyway, I'm gonna end this video here. I just really wanted to show you guys. I'm gonna go jump on the bed and break out the fancy wine now.

Thank you all so much for watching. Happy baking, fellas!

I didn't do any baking in this video...


	28. Immigrant (Irish)

(Dedicated to jacksepticeye, aka the most awesome youtuber and the one whose sexy Irish accent I kept imagining for this chapter. Yes, I obsess over accents for this whole thing. So sue me.)

(I chose Irish because I saw somewhere that 'Caffrey' is Irish for blessed, and then my imagination took it from there. Also because it was requested~ So that worked out perfectly)

(ALSO I apologize if the Irish in here is terrible. I'm using a translator and it might not work very well...)

New York was so much different than Ireland. Neal felt out of place, but also, it was like he belonged here. He'd been working hard to smooth out his accent into something the Americans would understand. He was still self-conscious about it, even though he'd been assured that he was perfectly fluent in English.

He didn't know anybody here, but it was almost exciting. That meant that no one knew him either. He was starting a new life. One he wouldn't mess up this time.

Caught up in his thoughts, he didn't pay attention to where he was going, and he accidentally bumped into someone. In that brief second, he had to stop himself from reaching into the man's pocket out of impulse.

"Sorry!" he said, as the man turned around, looking miffed. "I didn't see you there."

The guy was short, bespectacled, and had very little hair. Neal was almost offended when the stranger actually checked his pockets right then and there. "Don't worry about it," he said once he was satisfied that everything was in its proper place. "Say, where are you from?"

"Ireland," Neal replied, and the stranger seemed to find that intriguing.

"Really? Ireland? I couldn't tell. You don't have much of an accent."

"I've been working on getting rid of it," Neal said. "If I'm going to live in America, I might as well sound American, right?"

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!" the other man protested, surprising Neal. He launched into some rant about why that was, and Neal listened, rather intrigued by the strange little man. He was certainly unique.

"What's your name?" Neal asked eventually.

"Call me Mozzie. And you?"

"Neal."

And somehow, that was how Neal made his first friend in New York.

As it turned out, Mozzie was the best thing that could have happened to him. They found out rather quickly that they shared the same little hobby, though Mozzie never let him forget that he was the brains of the operation.

It was the perfect team-up, he said. Neal had the talent to pull off the biggest cons and Mozzie had the resources and know-how to plan out everything to the T.

Together, they made quite the reputation for themselves.

-)()(-

Neal had never really gotten over being self-conscious of his accent, so he practiced until he sounded 100% American. Though around Mozzie, he didn't bother to correct it very much.

At the moment, however, he was speaking full Irish. He wasn't sure why, but it felt easier than speaking English at all, so he went with it, rambling on as a man led him into a familiar house. Wow, he was strong.

"Tá tú láidir (you're strong)," he said with a light chuckle. "Cad atá á dhéanamh againn anseo? (What are we doing here?)"

"Neal," the man muttered, "I don't speak German."

"Gaeilge (Irish)," Neal corrected, then found himself falling onto a soft couch as the strong man dropped him. He laughed at that. "Bí cúramach. Tá mé an- luachmhar, tá a fhios agat (Be careful. I'm very valuable, you know)."

"Is he okay?" a woman asked, and Neal looked over at her in surprise. She was very pretty and he decided to tell her so.

"Tá tú an- álainn. Fhéachann tú cosúil le Kate. Ach tá a fhios agam nach bhfuil tú. Tá tú Elizabeth. Sea, anois cuimhin liom. Fan... An bhfuilim ceaptha agam a bheith anseo? (You're very beautiful. You look like Kate. But I know you're not. You're Elizabeth. Yes, now I remember. Wait... Am I supposed to be here?)"

The two looked at him uncomprehendingly after that long shpeel, and Neal laughed at that too. They looked so funny. He told them that as well, but again, they just looked at him in what seemed to be deep concern.

"Peter," Neal grinned, his eyes getting suddenly very heavy. "Always so serious..."

-)()(-

"You started speaking Irish," Peter said as soon as Neal opened his eyes. "I didn't see that on your résumé."

Neal sighed deeply. "You sure it was Irish?" Maybe he could slip by this one.

"Yep," Peter replied. "Or Gaeilge, as you put it."

Neal hummed, but didn't otherwise reply.

"How do you know Irish?"

"Spent a lot of time there."

"When?"

"A long time ago. Why? Gonna investigate?"

"Always."

"Let me save you the trouble. I never stole anything and I never fenced anything there."

Peter didn't look convinced, but he nodded. "Alright then. Now get off my couch."

Of course, Peter didn't let it go. Neal should have figured that. He had found something new about Neal Caffrey that he hadn't known before, which meant he'd be digging around in it until he was satisfied.

"So," the agent said, startling Neal at his desk one day. "Not only can you speak Irish..."

Neal groaned. "Can we not?"

"...But you actually are Irish. You're from Ireland? I thought you were from St Louis."

"Both," Neal huffed. There went another one of his secrets to Peter Burke. "Why are you surprised?"

"You don't sound Irish at all. Aren't you supposed to have an accent?"

"Got over it."

"You make it sound like a disease."

Neal looked at Peter irritably. "What's it matter to you where I'm from?"

"It doesn't," Peter answered. "I'm just surprised."

"If you make a single leprechaun joke, I will cut and run."

"Not even one?"

The look Neal shot him was answer enough.

-)()(-

There went another of his secrets. Once Peter knew, Hughes knew, and then Diana, then Jones, then the rest of the agents. They said nothing at all about it, though, which was kinda nice.

June knew already, and she had asked him a lot of questions about his home back in Ireland. He had no reason nor will to lie to her, so he told her the stories of his childhood, of what it had been like back there.

Then one night she asked him why he tried so hard to distance himself from all of it. Why did he hide everything about his origins, right down to his accent? Neal's first answer was a grin and a witty quip about "when in Rome", but he knew that wouldn't do, so he sighed.

"It's a part of me I want to remember a certain way, and being here in America... I don't want that to be me running away from home. It's what I do, you know? I recreate myself." He smiled a bit. "I like to think that part of me is still back in Ireland living a normal life, that I'm a completely different person."

She looked at him, smiling as well. "Or maybe you're still running."

-)()(-

"I'm not running anymore," Neal murmured.

"What was that?" Peter asked.

"Nothing."

They were standing on Irish soil, together. Neal had never imagined that he'd be back so soon, by which he meant almost twenty years. It hadn't felt like that long at all. Yet here he was, anklet long gone.

He'd served out his sentence, despite a bit of confusion about a possible commutation, which hadn't happened, but it wasn't so bad. By that time, he'd only had a few months left anyway.

After finally being cut loose, he hadn't run, as he suspected many people, including himself, thought he would. No, he'd stayed, as if nothing had changed. Except he had a helluva lot more than two miles to run around in and he didn't have to take orders from the FBI anymore.

He continued to help them over the next few years, now with pay, which felt kind of good. Like he had a real job now.

It was a spur of the moment thing, coming over here to Ireland. Peter had tagged along, just for old time's sake, and Neal hadn't protested. In truth, he rather preferred the company.

"So this is where the great Neal Caffrey comes from," Peter smiled. "Who knew?"

"It's not so miraculous," Neal mumbled, but he was smiling as well. "I only lived here for the first eighteen years of my life."

"You do realize that by the time we get back home, we'll both be speaking Irish."

Neal snorted. "You're being overdramatic."

It was a long visit. They stayed for over a week and Neal went back to all his old haunts, even the house he'd grown up in. Peter felt a little out of his element there, but Neal was right at home, and in no time, he was back to speaking with an accent, not even noticing. Peter thought it was rather adorable, but he kept that to himself.

They returned home, exhausted but definitely enlightened. Even Neal felt like a small piece of him had been found after twenty some odd years.

Elizabeth was happy to have them back so she had someone to spoil with food and wine and listen to the stories of their adventures in Ireland. It took her all of four seconds to smile broadly and laugh at how both of them we're talking with that Irish tinge to their voices. With Neal it was obvious. Though with Peter, it was a little harder to tell.

"That happened when I went to France for a year," Neal chuckled. "I was speaking French for a week."

"I love it," Elizabeth said. "It just seems more like you."

Neal didn't bother trying to correct himself after that.

-)()(-

"Why does the image of bagpipes come to mind?"

"That's Scottish you're thinking."

"Right, right. What's the difference?"

"I'm not going to grace that question with an answer."

"Where'd the pot of gold thing come from?"

"No idea."

"How come people always say Irish people have beards?"

"Stereotypes. Every culture has them."

"So that's why you like alcohol so much. Except you drink wine instead of beer."

"Stop."

"You're fun to poke at. So, is your favorite color green?"

"I'm never telling you anything ever again."

"You don't mean that."

"I do."

"Neal."

"Sarah."

"You know I'm kidding, right?"

"Of course."

"Then lighten up. Come on, we'll be late."

"I don't like the concept of a double date."

"Because it's with Peter and Elizabeth?"

"No, because I'd prefer to spend a night out with you alone."

"Good answer."


	29. Equestrian

The first time Neal got on a horse, it was in the dead of night. He'd snuck over to the neighbor's place and slipped through the fence. A small brown pony looked at him briefly, then went back to grazing.

He'd been curious then, so he gave the little horse the apple he'd brought along, considering that a good enough reason for the animal to like him, so he climbed on its back and sat there. The pony paid him little attention, just standing there, occasionally taking a step.

That got boring quickly, so Neal kicked it with his heels like he'd seen cowboys do in the movies.

The effect was instantaneous. The peaceful little pony suddenly lunged forward and Neal tumbled off its back end rather quickly.

He'd been four years old then, and he decided he was never getting on another horse as long as he lived.

-)()(-

Neal got a mouth full of sand as he fell on his face. The big grey horse he'd been sitting on a second ago was now halfway across the ring, still bucking, though he settled down a moment later.

With a frustrated groan, Neal got back on his feet, brushing himself off. "You're not gonna get away with that for long," he muttered.

The big grey merely looked at him from where it stood across the ring as if to say, 'Try me'.

"Having some trouble?"

Neal jumped at Peter's voice and turned to see him leaning casually against the gate like he'd been there for some time. "No, I'm good."

"Captain doesn't seem to think so," Peter commented, hiding his amusement.

Neal glanced at the horse again. "Nasty habit. I'm trying to break it for him."

"And you're doing exceedingly well at that," Peter chuckled. "What, you think I haven't been keeping count of the amount of times you've been thrown?"

"Three," Neal said in a mumble.

Peter slipped through the gate and walked over to give Neal a nudge toward the fence. "Let me give it a shot."

Neal looked at him oddly. "Really. You. On a horse."

"Watch a pro," Peter smirked, and Neal held his hands up in surrender.

"Be my guest, Butch."

"Watch and learn, Sundance."

Neal slipped out through the gate and stood by it, resting his arms on one of the bars as he watched.

Peter walked over and grabbed Captain's reins, leading him back into the center of the ring. He gave the big horse a pat on the neck, then put his foot in the stirrup and swung himself effortlessly into the saddle.

Captain started trotting around the edge when commanded to do so and Neal looked on in anticipation as they got to the long white ribbon he'd tied to the post. Captain's ears laid back and he sidestepped quickly, but Peter corrected him.

Neal smirked as the horse fought against him, then started bucking. However, he was surprised to see Peter manage to keep his seat, even as he pulled up on the reins hard.

Captain stopped, prancing in place for a moment, but he was no longer bucking and Peter spoke to him in a soothing voice. "See? That thing's not gonna hurt you."

Neal couldn't help but smile. "Okay, how'd you do that?"

Peter walked Captain around the ring again. "You were going too easy on him. Pull up on the reins so he can't get his head down. Makes it a lot harder for him to buck you off."

"Who knew Peter Burke was a horseman?" Neal said, coming back in through the gate as his friend dismounted.

"I was raised in upstate, remember?" Peter said, handing Captain's reins back over. "Lots of horses."

They both glanced over at Elizabeth's approach and she came to stand beside Neal. "You boys about done? Mozzie is here."

Neal grimaced. "I completely forgot. He and I were gonna..." He glanced at Peter. "We were going to hang out."

Peter raised an eyebrow with a small smirk. "Got a date?"

"Nothing illegal."

"I like how you have to clarify that. What would your coach think?"

Neal squinted. "I don't have a coach." At Peter's pointed look, he rolled his eyes. "You are not my coach."

"Whatever you say."

Neal brought Captain back in to remove his tack, then let him loose in the paddock to run around while he went in to see Mozzie.

"You're not my coach," he was sure to repeat as he passed Peter again.

-)()(-

It was night, and once again, Neal was on the back of a horse. Except this time he wasn't four and he knew better by now than to kick the animal in the side.

Instead, he just sat and relaxed, eyes raised to the stars. Everyone was asleep, so it was just he and Orson tonight. The palomino paint had been a gift from Mozzie, bought when he was just a young colt. Neal had trained the horse himself.

Across the field, he could see the oak tree under which they had buried Captain last winter. He'd grown older, like Neal had over the years. But he'd been in pain too. It was a kindness to relieve him of it.

Neal looked back to the house where his wife and daughter were sleeping. Tomorrow was another day. The Burkes were bringing over their little boy, Mozzie was tagging along with them. Things had finally settled into something of a normal routine for them all.

He still helped the FBI, but his sentence was up and he was a free man. He'd married the daughter of the man who used to own this ranch, and now he could call it his own. Here, he meant something, he was needed.

Orson snorted loudly as he grazed, breaking Neal from his thoughts. He smiled a bit and gave the horse a pat on the neck. "If you want a happy ending..." he quoted softly.

He was never happier.


End file.
